


Penfriends

by mizsphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mistaken Identity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Opposites Attract
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizsphinx/pseuds/mizsphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffering from loneliness, Hermione signs up for a penfriend service. She's pleased when she's assigned a nice bloke named Legolas, and soon begins to fall for him. And that might have been just fine if she wasn't falling for Lucius Malfoy too. Oh dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> This is a gift for the very lovely Lailana. This story is complete.

**Chapter One**

Hermione stared hard at the blank piece of parchment set before her. Gripping her quill, she chewed her bottom lip, completely at a loss as to what to write. She'd recently signed up for a penfriend service named _WizFriend_ , and was swiftly beginning to regret that decision. Yes, she may have been suffering a bit of loneliness of late, but it spoke of a certain kind of desperation for companionship when one had to _pay_ for a friend… 

But, she refused to feel ashamed anymore. It was true that she was lonely. Harry and Ron were so involved with their Auror duties these days that they had little time for her now. And her friendship with Ginny and Luna had become strained, too, since the former had become a curse-breaker, and was hardly ever in the UK for more than a few days, and the latter had her hands full running the newspaper she'd inherited from her father. 

It didn't hurt to make new friends, regardless of the means one chose to do so. Besides, ever since she'd quit her job at the Ministry, and had opened up her very own bookshop, she had plenty of time on her hands. 

So, after supplying her five galleons to _WizFriend_ , and filling out the requisite fields for compatibility tests, _WizFriend_ had provided her a male penfriend named – much to her amusement – 'Legolas.' He claimed to be a voracious reader, a Parisian art lover, fancied gardening, enjoyed playing his clarinet just before breakfast, believed the Ministry was being run by incompetent, unregenerate fools, and detested cats. 

Dipping her quill into the nearby bottle of ink, Hermione decided that she'd just write whatever came to her mind, edit it, then rewrite a new letter with the edited portions of the letter. 

_Dear Legolas –_

No. Too stiff. 

_Hello Legolas –_

Still sounds a bit off… 

_Hello,_

_Thank you for accepting me as your penfriend, Legolas. Judging from our mutual interests, I believe that we will become very good friends. You are my first and only penfriend, and truth be told, I haven't an idea as to what to say – which is strange, for in real life I'm usually quite talkative. Well, to get the ball rolling – what's the last book you've read? Did you enjoy it? Looking forward to hearing from you!_

_-Athena_

Hermione began chewing her bottom lip again, frowning at the letter. She worried that it sounded too dull, or whether she should strikeout the line mentioning her talkativeness. Still, she supposed it wasn't an awful letter, and at least it was short and to the point. In any case if he pronounced her boring and didn't care to respond, then it was his loss. She was a very interesting – 

The porcelain wind chime she'd affixed to the bookshop's front door chimed its lovely tune as someone entered. Looking up, she discovered Lucius Malfoy standing in the entranceway. 

Dread filled Hermione – not because of fear of Lucius Malfoy, but fear of her own behaviour. Ever since she'd opened up her bookshop a year ago, Lucius Malfoy had been a regular patron for the last three months. He came twice a week, perused the shelves for about ten minutes before deciding on his choice, took the book and sat down in one of her comfy sofas, and stayed at least an hour to read before eventually coming and purchasing the book. 

He never spoke to her. The most he would ever say is 'good morning' or 'thank you.' Still, during these visits, Hermione's anxiety knew no bounds. He invoked a spirit of clumsiness within her, for she dropped, spilled, overturned and fumbled with things whenever he was near. Because of him, she'd had to replace more than one of her tea-sets. 

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said in his usual mellifluous tones. 

"H-hello…err…Mr Malfoy," she returned. "Good m-morning." 

Oh, yes. He made her stammer, too. 

He remained where he stood for a moment – an eternity it seemed to Hermione – staring at her. Sitting stiffly on her stool behind the cashier's desk, Hermione stared right back. He was dressed in his customary black robes made of cashmere, held closed by the intertwining necks of two silver dragons featuring as a clasp. Today, he'd decided to pull his hair back into a neat ponytail, a thin, black, satin ribbon holding each strand in place at his neck, and Hermione couldn't help noticing how he looked much younger with this change. 

And more handsome, too. Although, she'd already noticed _that_ fact eons ago… 

Then he approached her desk, and it took all of Hermione's willpower not to shrink away from his sudden proximity. 

"Miss Granger, have you any copies of Bercarius' _Potions and Poultices_?" 

"Of course!" she replied in a tone that was higher than she'd intended. However, thankful for an excuse to put some distance between her and Lucius, she settled her hands on the edge of her desk, pushed her stool back and attempted to slide off it to her feet. Unfortunately, while pushing the stool backwards, its back legs snagged on the carpeting, tilted forwards and tipped her off. Trying to prevent her fall, her hands scrabbled at the desk's edge for purchase, missed, knocked her bottle of ink to the floor and scattered the bits of parchment and paraphernalia that had littered her desk. Fortunately, the carpeting was soft enough to cushion her fall. 

"Miss Granger, are you hurt? Do you require assistance?" This was Lucius as he peered over the desk to look down at her. Amusement laced his words. 

Face beet-red, Hermione scrambled to her feet. 

"No, no! I'm quite alright, thanks." _Don't cry, Hermione. Don't cry!_ "Just follow me and I'll show you where to find your book!" 

* * *

_Athena_

_An impressive pseudonym. Perchance you are a Greek mythology enthusiast as myself? What inspired you to claim such a name for yourself?_

_You need not restrict your tongue – or quill – with me, my dear Athena. Whatever strikes your fancy, and you feel inclined to share, do so without hesitation._

_The last book I've read? That will be Alfred Bercarius' Potions and Poultices, and yes, I did enjoy it. In my spare time, I like to believe myself a potioneer. I challenge myself to create the most complicated of healing potions, and then I donate them to St. Mungo's. I've often entertained the idea of opening an apothecary, however, I fear that that dream will remain just as it is – a dream._

_I'm sure you can sympathise. Or have you already fulfilled your greatest wish?_

_-Legolas_

Hermione smiled as she reread Legolas' letter. It had arrived a few moments ago, three days after she'd sent him hers. Surprisingly enough, the tiny bit of mayhem Lucius Malfoy's appearance had created hadn't affected her letter. Although, the same couldn't be said for her carpet. Even now, after countless stain eradication spells, a large dark blob still remained on her sage-coloured carpet where the ink bottle had vomited out its contents. Damn expensive ink. 

But the ink was not to be blamed. It was Lucius Malfoy. She just didn't know why the man affected her so much. Was she terrified of him? Maybe just a smidgen. The war may have ended five years ago, and certain actions that were perpetrated against her, her friends and her family may have been forgiven, but they certainly were not forgotten. 

And, in any case, she wasn't so terrified of him to warrant her uncharacteristic clumsiness. She supposed what made her so nervous around Lucius Malfoy was the element of the unknown. Firstly, why did he come to her bookshop? Why didn't he walk the extra two minutes to Flourish and Blotts instead? Secondly, why did he always come to her bookshop _twice_ a week? How could he even read all of the books he purchased in so short a time, anyway? And, thirdly, why did it feel as though he looked at her whenever she wasn't paying attention? _Why_ would he be looking at her? What the bloody hell was his agenda? 

Sometimes, she considered questioning him about the purpose for his visits, but she never found the courage to do so. Why Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood, Muggle-hating Extremist and Elitist would actively support her – a Muggleborn – prosperity was truly beyond her scope of reasoning. She fancied the idea that maybe he felt guilty about his past treatment towards her, and thought this a suitable way to repay her. Or maybe he just genuinely wanted books to read, and found her bookshop worthy of his tastes. 

But why the civility, though? He could easily conduct his business without speaking a word to her. He also needn't tip her a few (or several – sometimes he was _very_ generous) galleons extra when he ordered tea. And that 'offering his assistance' bit three days ago…he'd been willing to _touch_ her? Maybe he knew she'd never accept and had merely offered out of politeness? Still, why did he persist in being…well… _nice_? 

She supposed some things were just too mind-boggling to even bother deciphering. 

Her porcelain wind chime tinkled as someone stepped into her bookshop. 

She looked up. 

Lucius Malfoy. 

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he greeted. "How are you, today?" 

Very surprised, for it was the first time he'd ever enquired after her welfare, she replied, "Err…f-fine, I suppose. You?" Then, remembering herself: "Oh, and good morning t-to you, too." Damn it! She hated when she stuttered. 

His gaze grabbed and held hers hostage. She wondered if his gaze was preventing her from breathing, too. Curiously, she noted how very much alike his eyes were to Draco's, yet, she could distinguish his were of a darker shade. Slate. A bit like the colour clouds turned when they were full to bursting with rainwater. They seemed softer, too. The previous hate and anger that had resided within them no longer existed, yet their intensity still remained unchanged. 

"I'm well. Very well. Thank you," he said simply, and that was that. He broke their gaze, turned away and headed for the nearest shelves. 

Feeling as though she'd been released from some kind of spell, Hermione breathed deeply. She wished Lucius Malfoy didn't affect her like he did. Maybe she should just put up a sign on her door that read: "No blond wizards with first names beginning with 'L' and surnames beginning with 'M' will be served at this establishment. Go away. Thank you." 

That would teach him for making her so ridiculously nervous. 

In any case, a cup of chamomile tea might help relax her. 

So, planting her hands on the edge of the desk, she pushed her stool backwards. 

And, just like three days ago, the stool tipped her off prematurely, sent her hands flailing wildly and upsetting, overthrowing and spilling everything in their reach. She landed on her side on the floor with a sound of: "Oompf!" There was a fluttering of parchment falling all around her, and the _glug-glug-glug_ of another expensive bottle of ink spewing its filling on her carpet. 

Sprawled on the floor, she sighed heavily. 

Damn. This _really_ needed to stop happening. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Hi, Legolas,_

_I'm glad that you're interested in Greek mythology as well. We really do have much in common! My name? Well, I believe Athena embodies my true spirit. I'm a firm believer in fairness, and I have great respect for wisdom, wherever it can be found and attained. There is more as to why I took this name, but maybe I will share it with you at a later date._

_I, too, was amused by your name. Have you read Lord of the Rings? No doubt. Are you an elf as well? Now that would be very thrilling, indeed!_ _Maybe you can instruct me on a bit of archery from time to time? Ha!_

_I also think it an incredibly thoughtful and amazing endeavour that you would create undeniably time-consuming potions, and donate them to St. Mungo's. Furthermore, I don't think you should give up on your dream. Whatever obstacles in your path preventing you from fulfilling it can be overcome if you want it made into reality bad enough. My friends and family say I'm stubborn, and I suppose I am. I believe one needs to have a certain kind of tenacity if one wants to thrive, so I refuse to see my obstinacy as a weakness. (Is that being doubly stubborn?)_

_And, yes, I'd like to believe I've fulfilled one of my dreams. I've always wanted to be surrounded by books, and I've finally found a job that allows me such a luxury. Still, there are many other dreams I harbour that I'd like to see come true. For instance, I'd like to visit Greece, write a bestselling suspense book, ride a horse, own at least one ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery or clothing, and do something that is completely uncharacteristic of me. I'd also like to pet a tiger, go kayaking, drink sake, learn to speak fluent German – and so many more, but I fear I'll bore you with the rest, if I haven't already._

_So, what are some of the other things you've dreamt of accomplishing, Legolas?_

_-Athena_

* * *

Having run its course, winter handed the baton over to spring, and with the new weather came drier days and a bit more sunshine. Hermione's customer base began to grow, and so did her earnings. Since the opening of her bookshop, she'd been staring bleakly at the uninspiring figures in the income margin when she did her accounting, but now, thank Merlin, business was finally growing – albeit slowly. 

There were many instances during the past year when she'd questioned leaving her job at the Ministry. Especially on those days when she sold, at most, two books for the day. And even though being the Assisting Head of Department for the Pest Sub-Division had been a tedious wasteland of paper-pushing, at least the pay had been decent. 

Still, it had not been her dream job. After returning to Hogwarts to complete her final year, she'd had impressive dreams of rising swiftly to some position of power. With her status as War Heroine, there was no obstacle in her path to her becoming, say, the Minister for Magic. And even if that had been extraordinarily ambitious, she'd have at least settled for Head of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If she couldn't reform the Wizarding World to her liking, then at least she'd have an influence in the proper treatment of magical beasts and beings. 

Unfortunately, her War Heroine status meant little when the desired job positions had already been filled, and so, she was stuck with the next best offer: secretarial work disguised under the _prestigious_ title of 'Assistant Head.' 

_Well, not anymore,_ she thought with smug satisfaction as she alphabetised the Herbology section. _I'm my own boss now._

Indeed. She was the proud and sole owner of _Tea & Tome_. A bookshop that catered to the scholarly types who also fancied a nip of tea whilst studiously (or pretending to be) absorbing the knowledge secured within each book page. Once the home of a spectacle shop, the diminutive piece of real estate had been sold to Hermione at half its value due to the seller's desperation for money. 

Wedged too tightly in between a shoe shop and a bakery, and its back paralleling rows of other businesses, Hermione was unable to magically expand the building as she'd have liked. Not to mention, the Ministry's cost for a licensed expansion was criminally expensive. Therefore, she made use of every bit of space she had by shelving books all the way to the ceiling. 

Granted, it entailed her climbing up a ladder to restock or rearrange the books, and even though she had a _slight_ fear of ladders, she didn't mind. Much. 

And, at least, when customers requested a book, all she had to do was cast a quick _Accio_ spell to retrieve it. Simple. 

Currently, she was perched on a twelve-rung ladder, her feet secured on the seventh rung. Beside her, four stacks of books containing ten each levitated within easy reach. She was humming 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' as she checked each book's spine before placing them in their appropriate spot. Half of her mind on the task at hand, and the other half on the last letter she'd recently sent to Legolas two days ago, she did not hear the wind chime chiming. 

"You seem in high spirits, Miss Granger," said a voice down below. 

Startled, Hermione's body shook, and she released a little gasp, as well as her firm hold on the ladder's handle. Both hands employed in wide, frantic helicopter arcs in a futile effort to regain her balance, off she fell from the ladder. She let out a little scream and subconsciously tightened her body, readying herself for the impact with hardwood flooring. 

Instead, she collided first with flesh, and then both she and accompanying flesh tumbled gracelessly to the floor. Limbs tangled. Her elbow met with a ribcage. Strands of hair filled her mouth. 

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Granger. Perhaps I should have been a bit more cautious upon approaching you." 

Aghast, Hermione spat hair from her mouth, scrambled off of Lucius Malfoy's body, and rose swiftly to her feet. She stepped backwards, tripped over the fallen ladder, and then sprang to her feet yet again. 

Face the reddest it had ever been in her twenty-three years of existence, she stuttered out: 

"I…that's…that's okay. I mean...well…I didn't hear you come in. I usually hear when people come in. The wind chime. I hear it. When you come in. I-it chimes…" 

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

Lucius had risen to a sitting position. He looked strange there, sitting on the floor in his expensive robes. His ribbon had come undone, so his usually well-coiffed hair fell wild and free against his shoulders. He gazed at her for a short moment before rising to his feet. Standing tall before her, his advantage in height made her feel very small, and further embarrassed by the entire incident. 

If the ground suddenly opened up and asked her to jump in, she'd do so in half of a heartbeat. She'd not care where her destination might be, so long as it scurried her away from the present. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked. 

She stared up at him. "No." Then: "Are you?" 

The left corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Merely my pride. I'd envisioned catching you in a princely manner. Alas, my ambitious attempt was thwarted." 

She dared a little smile of her own. 

"Maybe next time you'll get a better gauge and catch me properly," she said, instantaneously regretting her words. Her eyes wide with renewed mortification, she stuttered out: "That…that is…if I-I _fall_ and you're _there_ and you – " 

_Oh, Merlin. Kill me now. Just do it. Do it quick._

"Perhaps," was Lucius' smirking reply before he turned away from her and commenced with his book search. 

* * *

_Athena,_

_I apologise for my delayed response to your letter. Familial obligations kept me engaged._

_How have you fared during the past week? Splendidly, I hope?_

_Am I an elf, you ask? Would you think any less (or more) of me if this proved to be true? Maybe you've a particular fancy for elves? Although, I must admit, you've very strange tastes. Regardless, to each his – or her – own._

_I jest. I hope you've not already decided to cease responding to my letters._

_I envy your dream fulfilment, Athena. I also envy your persisting optimism. I've never had the patience for cheerfulness, or the ability to view life through lenses I may have perceived as rose-coloured. Granted, I will never appoint myself on the other end of the spectrum and call myself a pessimist, either. Rather, I'm an…opportunist. Whatever opportunity or gain to be had in any event, I will take advantage of it. Use it to further my…not happiness, I've never known happiness...perhaps my comfortableness? My longevity?_

_Nevertheless, enough with this sombre tone. Perhaps I might follow in your steps and write a novel myself? A lengthy, tedious soliloquy spanning three hundred pages? I will credit you for the inspiration, my dear._

_You've many thrilling and courageous dreams, Athena. I fear the ones I long for are quite dull when compared to yours. However, there is one wish I've nursed for the past few months. I am of a certainty that it will never come to be, but I'm filled with a dangerous amount of hope. I think it ludicrous that this wish has so consumed me with the need to fulfill it, as mere months before, I would have baulked at the very notion of it._

_But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment._

_-Legolas_

* * *

_Crash!_

There went her fourth tea-set. 

She'd already foreseen this event. Thank Merlin it had been cheap. 

How she'd tripped over air was beyond her. One moment, she'd been walking with a healthy, measured stride, carrying the tray upon which the tea-set sat. However, the next moment, the same moment when Lucius Malfoy had turned to watch her, she'd somehow found herself pitching forwards, tray and tea-set arcing in the air in a competition as to which would fly highest before plummeting to a noisy crash. 

Maybe she'd made a record of some sort? Instead of nicknaming her the brightest witch and all that hogwash, maybe she should be renamed: The Girl Who Fell Over Air. That would make for much more interesting dinner conversations. 

She propped herself up on all fours, highly aware of Lucius' burning stare on the back of her head. Sweet Merlin she wanted to cry. Would it be so bad if she did? How much embarrassment could someone take before they were allowed to buckle under the pressure? 

Raising herself further, she knelt on the floor. She was just about to push to her feet when Lucius came in front of her and extended a hand. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object. A pale hand with five long fingers; a silver ring with an emerald prominent in its centre visible on his middle finger. He didn't bite his nails, she noticed; they were even and healthy, quite unlike hers, which were bitten, raggedy edges made worse in her moments of anxiety. Just like this one. 

He wiggled his fingers. She stared at them some more. 

"This is odd, Miss Granger. Here I am offering my hand in assistance, yet I've a distinct feeling that you'll kiss it instead. Who knew my digits were so… _enticing?_ " 

Annoyance edged out her embarrassment. She glared up at him. He smirked down at her. 

"You're not the pope. I'll not kiss your hand," she retorted, still kneeling, still glaring. 

"Oh? So had I that esteemed title, you'd not have hesitated pressing your lips against my flesh?" 

Within nanoseconds, Hermione's mind traversed a _very_ dirty path. Her gaze lowered. Here she knelt before Lucius Malfoy, her head near parallel with his crotch. With shameful ease, she could envision herself unbuckling, unzipping… _grabbing_ … 

_No! Bad, Hermione! Very bad!_

She met his gaze again, fearful he knew what perverted things she was thinking. 

"O-of course not," she replied weakly before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. 

She was standing very close to him now. So close she could distinguish the little ruby markings on his robes' dragon clasp. So close she could feel his body's heat. So close she could smell the sharp, alluring scent of his cologne, and an underlying tangy fragrance – lemon? Orange? Apricot? Something fruity. 

She inhaled deeply. Would he notice if she leant in a bit further? Merlin, he smelt _good_. 

Sounding amused, he responded, "Indeed? Then why haven't you released my hand as yet, Miss Granger? Your actions really do beg to differ." 

She looked down. She was still holding on to his hand. Dear Circe, she was holding _Lucius Malfoy's hand_. 

Dropping his hand as though it burned her, she stepped back and away from him. Mumbling a quick apology, she made a hasty retreat to the tiny storage room. There she sat on a box, her hands covering her face, fully resolving in a very dramatic manner that she'll never show her face to the light of day ever again. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Although she was a capable witch with a formidable arsenal of spells, charms and jinxes beneath her belt, Hermione still liked to do things the old fashioned way – the Muggle way. For some reason, doing menial tasks she knew that could be completed by a quick swish of a wand helped her feel closer to home. She was of the opinion that her acclimatisation to the Wizarding World's ways did not mean she had to adopt _all_ of their customs. 

Therefore, with this mindset, late May on a Saturday afternoon found her engaging in a bit of spring cleaning. She'd already tidied up the storage room in the back. Books that had warranted organisation had been organised. All available countertops had been wiped down. Tea things had been replaced. The two, street-facing windows had been cleaned, and the sofas and rug in the diminutive sitting area had been vacuumed (she'd had to use magic since electricity did not work in the Wizarding World). 

After sweeping the floor, she'd decided to go the extra mile and mop it, too. While doing so, she was smiling as she thought about her blossoming friendship between her and Legolas. They'd been writing each other letters for about a month and a half now, their replies becoming more and more frequent as time passed. 

Legolas' letters were a joy to read. He never failed to make her laugh or surprise her with some new and interesting titbit of knowledge. He was also polite, intelligent, and quick to compliment her on the simplest of things. He really was a fantastic find in a friend. So enthralled was she by this Legolas persona, that she wished she'd tried _WizFriend_ sooner. 

She wondered what he looked like – this Legolas. She'd been trying her best to ignore that train of thought, but the more she communicated with the man, the more her imagination wandered. Was he old or was he young? What colour hair did he have? The colour of his eyes? Was he slim? Not so slim? In between? Was he a good looking bloke? Was he not? Did that even matter? 

She told herself that it certainly did not matter what he looked like. After all, theirs was just only a friendship, a very young one to boot. Concerns about his attractiveness were superficial and were best left if she were to consider a more romantic relationship between them – which she most definitely did not want. Not now, anyway. 

_Though, I can't quite rule out the thought. I do like him. Maybe something might grow –_

Hermione forced herself to end that thought, and pumped her hands faster as she swished the mop back and forth across the floor. So, yes. It _may_ have been a while since she'd last been romantically involved, but she wasn't that desperate! And she may have gone to the length of paying for a friend, but she certainly wouldn't do so for a _man_! What next? Paying for a male prostitute, too? 

_Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad idea. It_ has _been a while since I've had a good, hard –_

The wind chime tinkled. 

Her body stiffened with dread. 

It couldn't be, could it? Surely it wasn't _him_. She had not seen hide nor hair from the man ever since that Episode – for she refused to call it anything else other than that – about a month ago. She'd thanked all existing deities for the reprieve, and had tentatively hoped for a permanent absence, but that had probably been a ridiculous amount of wishful thinking. A la Legolas – a 'dangerous amount of hope.' 

Damn it all, and here she'd thought she'd locked the door after cleaning the exterior panes of the windows. Still, her back was facing the door, so she couldn't know for sure right away. Besides, he wasn't her only customer. 

She spun around. 

Lucius Malfoy. 

_Bugger_ . 

Eyeing his refined, expensive clothing, she became highly conscious, firstly, of the red, paisley-patterned kerchief on her head, secondly, of the bleach-stained, oversized purple shirt – it read FARTS BEFORE TARTS! – that had once belonged to Seamus while they'd dated, its sleeves rolled up to her armpits, and, lastly, of the frayed jeans-shorts she wore that advertised a bit too much leg now that she thought about it. 

Lucius Malfoy eyed her in return. Not bothering to hide his silent appraisal of her in all her raggedy-clothed glory. Merlin. _Merlin_. Where was that effing hole when she needed it? Where the hell was it so she could just jump right _in_? 

She longed to lift her hands and cover herself. Or at least, cover that immature slogan on the shirt from Lucius Malfoy's judgmental gaze. 

Finally, he said: "Good afternoon, Miss Granger. You look very… _homely_ today. Have I come at an inopportune hour?" 

_Yes, you have. Now, get out and get lost before I drag this dirty mop across your pretty, pretty shoes._

"Er…well, I-I was doing a bit of cleaning, you see," she replied, trying for a smile and failing. "Spring cleaning. 'Cause it's…erm…spring. You know." 

_Oh, just wonderful, Hermione. So articulate._

"Well, then," he said, already turning towards the door, "I shall return another day. I'll not inconvenience you further." 

"Oh, no, no! No inconvenience!" _Stupid! What are you doing?_ "It's quite alright!" _Stop this madness, woman!_ "I'm nearly done, anyway." 

He turned to face her again. "If you're sure…?" 

"Yes! Very!" she proclaimed in a higher than normal voice. "I'll just finish up here and then I can attend to your needs." 

He came towards her, a mischievous look in his eyes and a ghost of a smirk visible. "You'll attend to my needs? That's incredibly ambitious, Miss Granger, for I've many. Would you like it if I prepared you a list?" 

_Oh my god. Is Lucius Malfoy…_ flirting _with me? Impossible._

Trying for nonchalance even though her heart beat a little harder with excitement, she replied, 

"How can a wealthy man still have needs?" 

"Not every need can be bought," he answered. 

"Any and everything is purchasable." 

A blond eyebrow lifted. "That is surprisingly cynical of you, Miss Granger. But I beg to differ." 

Emboldened, she replied, "And that is surprisingly naïve of you, Mr Malfoy." 

He didn't respond right away. He simply gazed at her for a short moment before he came closer to where she stood. Horrified that he was close enough to smell the pervasive scent of the cleaning solutions on her, she tried edging away. Unfortunately and inevitably, her clumsy side reared its ugly head. 

A puddle of water had formed where she'd unwittingly left the mop on the floor. In her haste to get away, her bare left foot – _Oh, Circe, he's seen my hideous toes, too?_ – stepped in it, and slid out from under her. Down she might have went with an embarrassing splat in the puddle beneath her if Lucius hadn't reached forwards and grabbed onto her upper-arms to keep her upright. 

Her face was momentarily pressed into his chest, the soft material of his robes against her nose and lips. She made the mistake of inhaling, and her olfactive sense was flooded with that same delicious, citrus scent. A sharp, pleasant lemony odour gentled by…rosemary? Yes, rosemary. Lemon and rosemary. She inhaled again. And yet again, very deeply in astonishment, when his hands glided slowly, smoothly, down the length of her exposed arms before releasing her. 

He stepped back, his features unreadable. She was breathing hard, and her heart felt like it had manufactured drums within her chest, and was playing along enthusiastically. What just happened? What the bloody hell just happened? Had…had Lucius Malfoy just _felt her up_? 

"You – " she began, but Lucius cut her off. 

"You're absolutely right, Miss Granger. Everything has a purchasing price. But then, there are some things that exceed monetary worth." He turned away. "I will leave you to your duties. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." 

And he left her bookshop. 

* * *

_Legolas,_

_Did you hear about the new Ministry edict abolishing elf enslavement? I'm sure you did, since…well…_ you're _an elf. Ha! What are you doing with your newfound freedom? I heard knitting is an acceptable pastime…_

_I must stop teasing you about your penname. It'll only incense you to retaliate. Although, I can take any jibe you've got in store. During my schooling, I endured a gamut of insults hurled my way in regards to my physical appearance, and other noteworthy characteristics of mine. There was one particular boy who made it his honour-bound duty to make me cry at least once a week. He succeeded, you know. And it's ironic, because I had a suspicion that this boy liked me, and there came a point in time when I'd actually developed a fancy for this boy in return. But I saw sense fairly quickly, not to mention there were other significant factors as to why it was impossible we could ever be together._

_I see him occasionally. Sometimes, he visits where I work. We've progressed to amiable small talk. It's quite an accomplishment since we were such bitter, bitter enemies during our childhood years._

_I see his father too. I don't think his father ever liked me much. I used to hate him, too. He was…something. He wasn't a very nice man. Still isn't. Probably. I don't know._

_But I do know that_ you're _nice, Legolas! And I tell you all of this just to warn you that I've got a thick skin. So, if you've intentions of teasing me, then bring it, Mr Elf!_

_By the way, how is your potion work going? Have you concocted any groundbreaking solutions that would suddenly make you a very wealthy man? Wouldn't that be nice?_

_-Athena_

* * *

_Athena,_

_I was simply under the impression that you had a strange fancy for elves. I never knew you felt so strongly about our welfare as well. I've heard of elf-human unions, and I've also never known love... Maybe my time has finally come? Ha!_

_I feel, inexplicably, that I must apologise for that boy's behaviour. I suppose I'm suffering from second-hand embarrassment for the boy. Or, perhaps it is that I see a bit of myself in him. But it pleases me that you've matured into such a confident, forgiving woman despite this boy's attempt to debilitate your self-esteem. I, too, believe that he was besotted with you. From reading your letters, I gather that you've such immense inner beauty. Doubtless it has manifested itself in your physical traits as well. Perhaps he felt so intimidated by this beauty, by the idea that he might never garner your affections if he tried in earnest, his only recourse was to shun you instead. Indeed, your willingness to still have discourse with him is inspiring._

_And his father – you merely disliked the boy, but hated the father? My, such intense emotions! So far, you've not struck me with the capability to hate. Surely you exaggerate? After all, you would not have had much interaction with the boy's father, neither he with you. Possibly he does not hate as you might have believed?_

_Regrettably, I've not made any potions worthy of even the tiniest mention in the Daily Prophet, let alone any known potioneer journal. Though, that honour would have been swiftly attained by a dear friend of mine. A brilliant man. But he is dead now. The anniversary of his death draws near._

_Ah, but isn't this a morbid missive? Albeit strange, I shall segue into a cheerier topic – what is your preferred season, Athena? Spring, I presume?_

_-Legolas_

* * *

On Tuesday, around noon, Hermione had just returned from serving a customer some ginger biscuits when she found Draco Malfoy standing at her desk. 

"Granger," he greeted in quiet tones. 

"Hello, Malfoy," she returned just as politely. "How are you?" 

"Fine. You?" 

"The same." 

Silence. 

Then, "Do you need something? A book?" 

"Yes," he answered. "I was wondering whether you had...err… _Quell's Spells_?" 

She nodded. "I do," and she guided him to where he could find the book. 

Moments later, he returned to her desk to pay for the book. Upon searching his robes' pockets and unable to find his money purse, he began sifting through the many other bags he carried in a quest for the misplaced purse. During that time, Hermione took the chance to scrutinise Draco. 

_He's got taller,_ she thought. _Filled out a bit more, too._

He was still slim, still pale, still blond, and still pointy-chinned – but there was a change. He'd mellowed. Became a little less burdened. Before, he was once all sharp edges, but she supposed blades dulled eventually. She remembered her last missive to Legolas, and the one Legolas had returned just yesterday. Could it be that Legolas was right? Had Draco secretly liked her during Hogwarts, but had found it easier to ridicule her just because of their opposing origins instead? Maybe. Although, it was questionable that that kind of meanness he'd exhibited in Hogwarts had been all an act. 

It didn't matter, anyway. Because, even though the events of the War and his horrid behaviour towards her had been forgiven, and even though they were slowly rebuilding the bridge between them, and even though he'd managed to become an attractive bloke over the years, she no longer fancied _him_. 

He found his purse. Catching her looking at him, he offered her a tiny smile. She returned it. Feeling generous, she said, 

" _Quell's Spells_ , hm? I heard it's on the upcoming syllabus. Returning to Hogwarts for another year?" 

She was surprised when a bit of pink coloured his cheeks. 

"Well, in a way, I am. McGonagall hired me as the new Dark Arts professor," he replied in an uncharacteristically modest manner. "I start this September." 

Her smile broadened. "Oh, Draco. That's lovely news! I'm so happy for you!" 

"Thanks," his own smile widened too, and it transformed his face in such a positive way that, for a split second, Hermione reconsidered her 'no longer fancying Draco Malfoy' proclamation. "I'm really looking forward to it, too…Hermione." 

They smiled at each other some more. 

And then, the wind chime jingled. 

And then, Lucius Malfoy found them both smiling away at each other. 

And then, Draco's smile was gone, and hers was frozen into place. 

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, Draco." 

"Father." 

"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy." 

Silence. 

Then, as if some urgent call suddenly bid him elsewhere, Draco quickly handed Hermione his payment – overpaying her by ten galleons – mumbled out his goodbyes, and then left with great haste. 

And, with the same amount of speed Draco left with, came the memory of her last moment spent in Lucius Malfoy's company. 

The scent of lemon and rosemary. His hands on her skin. Touching, smoothing, _feeling_ … 

_God_ . 

She should call him out on it. She really should. Tell him she hadn't liked it, and that he should never, ever put his hands on her again. 

_But wouldn't that be a lie?_

Hands a bit shaky, she turned and stowed the money Draco had given her. She turned to face Lucius again. 

"Mr Malfoy – " 

But he'd already moved on to peruse the bookshelves. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_Legolas_

_How are you? I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond. My uncle – Uncle Vincent – passed away, so for the past week I've been to visit my family._

_I don't know why, but my uncle's death really hit me hard. I'm not a stranger to death for I've faced it on many occasions, and have witnessed people dearest to me succumb to its finality. And yet, even though I've hardly ever seen him for the last twelve years, I cried shamelessly at his funeral. I suppose I felt so depressed because he was one of the few remaining ties I had to my previous life. My parents suffered memory loss and don't even know I exist, and because I've been away from 'my world' – the Muggle world – for so long, I'm no longer in touch with much of my family._

_I'm Muggleborn, by the way. A 'Mudblood'._

_Mudblood. How innocent that word sounds, but how evil it is. Had I heard it whilst living in the Muggle world, I'd have not realised its hatefulness, its ability to contradict the idiom that 'words cannot hurt'. No. It hurt. It hurt every single time it was directed my way. Like stones and whips hurled simultaneously at me. Often times I've wondered about its origins. Who invented this horrid word? Was it used in the same context in the past as it's used in the present?_

_I don't know. I don't care to know. It's the first time I've ever felt disinclined to learn something new._

_Forgive me, Legolas. I suppose I'm not feeling myself today, but I just felt the need to share this with you. I've had second thoughts about sending you this letter but I've decided that I want to. Is it selfish of me to hope that you'll say nice things to cheer me up?_

_-Athena_

* * *

"So, Harry, is it true?" Hermione asked, a mischievous smile curving her lips. 

At present, she, Ron and Harry were seated in a warm, inviting restaurant that had recently opened in Hogsmeade. It was jointly owned by George Weasley and Lee Jordan, and in homage to Fred Weasley, they'd named it simply: _Fred's_. Hermione wouldn't call it posh, but it was certainly above average quality. The big windows invited natural light, the burgundy and gold décor was reminiscent of her Hogwarts days as a Gryffindor student, the music was unintrusive and pleasant, and the waitstaff were cordial and accommodating. She had yet to taste the food, but she had little doubt it would be fantastic. 

Harry looked up from his menu. "Is what true?" 

Hermione covered her mouth with her menu and waggled her eyebrows at Harry. "Well, a little bee told me that one Harry Potter was seen asking one Luna Lovegood out on a date." 

Ron chuckled. "I didn't know bees could talk." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Ron, they _buzz_. And her little bee should be buzzing around somebody else's business. Or squashed." 

Hermione placed her menu down on the table and leant closer to Harry. "So it's true, then?" 

"Hermione, I thought you weren't interested in that type of stuff," Harry protested, his cheeks a bit pink. "I never pinned you as a gossip." 

"Or maybe she hid it well, mate," replied Ron. "I think I'll get the steak. I wonder if George'll let me off without paying?" 

"I'm not a gossip, I just thought it interesting. Luna's a good friend, too, you know," huffed Hermione. Then: "So is it or is it not true?" 

"Merlin, you haven't changed a bit," sighed Harry. "Fine. Yeah. I did ask her out. She's nice. Pretty. I like her." And he blushed a bit more as he roved his fingers through his hair, looking very self-conscious. 

Ron snorted. "I don't know where your eyesight's gone, mate, but Loony is not – OWOW! What did you that for?" 

"Because you were being an insensitive prick," answered Hermione, glaring at Ron. 

"You mean he was just being himself," said Harry, and both he and Hermione laughed. 

"But you didn't have to pinch me. You've sharp fingernails, woman," Ron grumbled. "Now I remember why we ended things. You always abused me!" 

Hermione smirked. "And you always deserved it." 

Their waiter came and took their orders, and as they waited for their food, they caught up with each other's lives. Hermione couldn't remember when she'd last felt so contented. How delightful it was to just sit and relax with old friends and celebrate in life and gain, instead of wallowing in death and loss. When she'd told them about her uncle's passing, they were very supportive and understanding. Actually, they had been the one to orchestrate this outing. 

_They've matured, but they're still the same in a way_ , she thought as she watched them. They had managed to turn the conversation to Quidditch, and Hermione, comfortable in the fact that she did not know head from tail between bludgers and beaters, just sat and let them be. While listening to them jabber on about some amazing 'wronsky faint' (although what was so amazing about a wronsky – what was a _wronsky_ , anyway? – fainting baffled her), Hermione remembered the last letter she'd sent to Legolas. She then grew excited about telling Harry and Ron about her wonderful penfriend, and was just about to do so when she heard a sudden and loud vibrating sound. 

"Shite," said Ron and Harry simultaneously. 

Hermione looked questioningly between them, realising that the vibrations were emanating from them both. "What? What is it?" 

They rose swiftly to their feet. 

"Our wands. We're being summoned to the Ministry," said Harry, face grim. 

"Auror duties," explained Ron. "I think it's something big." 

"Be careful," she said quietly, eyes wide with worry. 

"We're sorry, Hermione. We'll catch up again soon," said Harry, and both he and Ron Apparated away. 

When the waiter returned, bearing a tray with their meals, Hermione apologised for Harry and Ron's absence, and asked for their meals to be bagged as a takeaway. Once she'd received the meals and paid, she got up and was making her way to the exit when, to her surprise, she spotted Lucius Malfoy. 

He was seated in one of the furthest corners of the room, in an advantageous position where he could look out onto the streets but where passers-by could not easily see him. The weather was unseasonably warm today, so he'd taken off his outer robes. Dressed in a charcoal waistcoat over a light-blue shirt with the neck opened, he appeared less formidable, and much more human than Hermione had ever seen him. His hair was pulled back into his usual ponytail, and elbows propped on the table, he intertwined his fingers in front of his chin and stared out through the window nearest him, looking relaxed and contemplative. 

Hermione stared. Inexplicably transfixed by Lucius Malfoy in this rare moment when he was seemingly unguarded. She wondered what he was thinking about that made him look so calm, even content. Was he pondering happily on the vastness of his Gringotts vault filled to the brim with gold? Was he reminiscing on days of old when he was simultaneously feared and respected? Or could it be something a bit more innocent and heart-warming? Like remembering his wedding day, or Draco's first baby steps? 

What made a man like Lucius Malfoy happy, anyway? 

_The world may never know..._

As if aware that someone was watching him, he suddenly turned his head away from the window and caught her gaze. She inhaled sharply, cursing herself for not turning away fast enough. As if he knew her thoughts, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and, furthering her astonishment, he turned his left hand up and summoned her over to his table with a crook of his index finger. 

_Don't go,_ said Sensible Voice immediately. _Just wave, smile apologetically, and move on. You've a bookshop to run._

_Oh, come on, Hermione. How could you resist such handsomeness? Just_ look _at that man. Mmmm!_ refuted Not So Sensible Voice. 

_He's a wicked man who has done wicked things. Stay away from him!_

_No doubt he'll do wicked things to you too, eh, Hermione?_ Very _wicked things!_

_Shut up the both of you!_ screamed Hermione in her own head. 

And it was then she realised that she was crazy. 

In any case, not willing to appear impolite, she nervously made her way to Lucius Malfoy's table. She was nearly there when her own special kind of karma kicked in. 

Because it was planned that she, Harry and Ron would have lunch, Hermione had taken extra care to dress today. Wearing a lovely, lavender dress and tiny pearl earrings with a matching tiny pearl necklace, she looked girlish and pretty, and the boys had even said so, too. 

And she wore heels. A new pair of nude slip-on shoes she'd been dying to wear. The soles were a bit slippery but they were manageable to walk in. So, there wouldn't be a prob— 

A man at a nearby table abruptly rose to his feet, and Hermione was forced to swerve out of the way. Her right foot came partly out of the shoe, and with this imbalance, the shoe sole's slipperiness made itself known. Down Hermione went, hands grasping at nothingness before catching hold of a tablecloth. Not able to withstand the sudden and forceful pull, the tablecloth and all the contents upon it went down with Hermione as well with a magnificent, crowd-drawing clatter. 

_Crash! Ping! Splat!_

And the awful, sorrowful sound of Hermione's mortification climbing levels of epic, unmatched and historical proportions. She was so embarrassed that when questioned frantically about her welfare by both waiters and guests, she was unable to speak. 

When she was finally aided to her feet by the very same man who'd caused her predicament, she didn't even bother looking Lucius' way. No, she decided, she was never, ever going to look at Lucius Malfoy again. The day she did so would be her last. As a matter of fact, as soon as she got back to her bookshop, she was going to post a sign on the front door specifically asking him never to patronise her establishment again. 

Yes. That ought to do it. No more Lucius Malfoy, no more embarrassment in her life. Everybody had a quota of humiliation to suffer in their lifetime, and she damn well knew she'd gone way beyond her fill. _Way effing beyond_. 

Merlin, she wanted to cry. She _was_ going to cry. But she was not going to do it in front of _him_. 

So, she Apparated away. 

* * *

_Athena,_

_My deepest condolences to you and your family. May your uncle rest in peace, and may his new journey be far more enjoyable than the one he encountered on this earth. I've sent you a small gift, and though it's not much, I hope it will bring a smile to your lovely face._

_You are of Muggle heritage? Were you not fearful of sharing this with me? What if, despite my obvious elvish charm and amicableness, I am genuinely a Pureblood supremacist who despises all things Muggle?_

_I respect, admire, and am flattered by your trust. Therefore, I shall return it by admitting that, unfortunately, I_ was _a Pureblood supremacist who despised – no, not despised, misunderstood – all things Muggle. I didn't (and still don't) hate Muggles, I just did not understand or respect their culture. They seemed weak, worthless, greedy, unmannerly and completely without honour. And when I considered their history of murdering hundreds of wizards and witches purely out of fear, I grew further disgusted with them. What kind of beings hated and wanted to destroy a whole race of other beings similar to them in almost every single way just because they did not understand them?_

_And my distaste for Muggles kept on growing until I met one remarkable Muggleborn. A powerful being. A selfless, beautiful, honourable soul who contradicted my entire philosophy, who showed me that I was doing the very same to Muggles as the Muggles had done to Wizarding folk. Because I did not understand, I destroyed._

_I yearn to show this person how much I've changed, but I am unsure if they will ever give me that opportunity. I can only hope._

_I do not know who you are, Athena, but I know who I used to be. Therefore, as someone who may or may not have insulted you with that word, I sincerely apologise and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

_-Legolas_

* * *

Placing the letter on her desk, she focussed her attention on the little parcel before her. It was a small white box with _Athena_ inscribed in black, cursive print on the lid. When she opened it, she discovered a small pile of wrapped sweets cushioned by green silk. By taking one look at the wrapper's inscription (it read: _Giavaro_ ) and the amount of sweets in the box (20 at least), Hermione knew that it was quite an expensive gift. One _Giavaro_ sweet cost (and she would know this since she visited the shop on the rare occasion) at least 2 galleons. And, because she couldn't help herself, if there were 20 sweets at 2 galleons each, that would be 40 galleons, which converted to… 

Bloody hell, he did not just pay _two hundred pounds_ for _sweets_. 

Gobsmacked, Hermione replaced the lid on the box of sweets and pushed it to the side where she could not directly look at it. Merlin knew how she longed to open it up and feast on the sweets, for not only were the fact that they were expensive so alluring, they were also her favourite: chocolate mints. How did he know that? Or had it been a coincidence? 

Between discovering he was a wealthy man – or at least she assumed so – and discovering he once disliked Muggles, she did not know what surprised her the most. Still…those sweets. Should she eat them or should she send them back? It was far too expensive a gift to be taken slightly. What if he expected something in return? Something she couldn't or didn't want to give? Was she reading too much into a simple gift that was obviously meant to make her feel better about her deceased uncle? 

The wind chime jingled. Awareness came over her. 

_No. No, no, no. Please, Merlin, Circe, God, Potatoes, Milk no. Please, I'm begging –_

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," greeted Lucius Malfoy. 

_Bugger._


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Exhaling a heavy and dejected sigh, Hermione forced herself to smile as she looked up and said, 

"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy." 

"Miss Granger, I may be mistaken but it seems as though you'd rather not have me in your shop," said Lucius in innocent tones. 

Her fake smile widened some more. "Why would you think such a thing, Mr Malfoy? If I didn't wish you to be here, a sign saying so would have been placed on the door's front." _Which I forgot to put up, you lucky bastard._

"And your heavy sigh upon hearing my greeting? Surely that's an indicator of your displeasure?" 

"I did not _sigh_ ," she lied. "I…I was…err…holding my breath, so I exhaled…" 

Silence. 

Then: "…And I was holding my breath because…because…I was in a breathing contest…" 

More silence. 

Then: "…With myself." 

_Oh, God. Why? Why do I do this to myself? Why do I hate myself so much?_

Maybe she had a new kind of disease? A heretofore undiscovered pathogen floating around in her bloodstream, forcing her to say ridiculous things? But then, why did this trait only surface when in company of Lucius Malfoy? So, maybe she secretly reveled in her own humiliation but was somehow unaware of it? She did not know, but it wouldn't hurt to find out why she kept putting her foot in her mouth when around Lucius Malfoy. 

"And how long did you last?" he asked, the left corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. 

"Forty-two seconds," she replied smoothly. She'd already started this so she wasn't about to backtrack now. 

He leant sideways against her desk, his elbow positioned on the edge. "And how were you keeping time? You're not sporting a timepiece on your wrist, nor do I see any on your desk." 

She met his gaze boldly. "I counted in my head." 

He smiled fully now. "Such a glib tongue. You might have convinced another had they not known any better." 

She lifted her chin and replied in haughty tones, "Are you accusing me of lying, Mr Malfoy? You ought to be careful. I can throw you out of my shop." 

"Of course, and no doubt you'll be happy to do so, hmm?" 

And he leant away from her desk and moved on to the bookshelves. 

* * *

But that was not the end of it, for as she set about tidying up to close shop, Lucius Malfoy approached her desk yet again. She'd completely forgotten about him since she'd spent most of her time at the front performing administrative duties. 

Because it was Saturday and the weather wasn't particularly terrible, she hadn't received many visitors today. She didn't mind because she knew things would pick up once Monday rolled around. She'd considered staying open all the way to four o' clock, but she was hungry and longing to stretch her legs a bit. Thus, she had decided to close early. 

His sudden reappearance startled her enough to make the box of _Giavaro_ sweets fall from her hands. It fell on its side on her desk, the lid slid off, and a few of the sweets spilled out into view. After much hesitation and bottom-lip chewing, she had eventually succumbed to the urge and had sucked blissfully on two of the sweets. Even now as she gently rewrapped them with the green silk and placed them back in the box, she wanted to grab another and pop it into her mouth. 

He did not speak right away. He looked on silently as she repackaged her gift. As she replaced the lid on the box, she realised that he might see the inscription _Athena_ written on it, so she covered the word with her fingers. 

He finally broke his silence: "A gift from your lover?" 

She blushed. "R-really, Mr Malfoy, that's none of your business. But if you must know, though: no. H-he's – It was from a friend." 

A part of her questioned why she felt inclined to clarify that it was not from a lover. So what if he'd got that impression? And why, for that matter, would he care whether or not it was from a lover, anyway? 

"Indeed? Then, I daresay this _he_ would not mind if I asked you to lunch?" 

She raised her head slowly, her eyes widening with each second. "W-what? Are you…are you _serious_?" 

He wasn't smiling. His handsome face was as straight and emotionless as an expert card dealer's. Merlin, he _looked_ serious. 

Her heart had begun to beat a little faster, her breathing following suit. This was surreal. No, this was impossible. Probably a warped, alternate universe that had somehow collided with the real version of her life. How else could one explain Lucius Malfoy – _Lucius Malfoy_ – asking her, Hermione Granger, out to lunch? And because alternate universes were as sensitive as time, one alteration could mean a whole legion of awful and unexpected consequences. 

"No," she said before he could respond. "Absolutely not." 

He did not look hurt, only curious as he stepped closer. 

"Why?" 

She stood straighter. "Because you are Lucius Malfoy and I am Hermione Granger." 

"Hardly an acceptable reason for rejecting my lunch invitation, Miss Granger." 

She frowned. "Mr Malfoy, have you forgotten who I am?" 

"How can I when you've so recently reminded me? You are Hermione Granger." 

Exasperated, "Merlin, you are infuriating!" 

"I will accept that as a compliment. Thank you." 

"No, it is _not_ a – " she began heatedly before pausing and taking a deep breath. In a calmer voice: "Mr Malfoy, I don't know if you fell and hit your head on a rock this morning, but let me make this clear: you may be a very attractive man, but under _no_ circumstance will I _ever_ – " she paused again when Lucius lifted his hand. "What? What is it?" 

"I merely wanted to thank you, Miss Granger. I am flattered you consider me 'very attractive.' Carry on." 

There was a very smug smile on his face. 

As though blood vessels beneath her cheeks had been severed, there was an explosion of red on her face. Shocked, mortified and angry, she gritted her teeth and said only: 

"Leave." 

"Not until I've paid for my book, my dear." 

Smug smile still intact, he placed twenty galleons on her desk – overpaying her hugely – and left her bookshop. 

* * *

_Legolas,_

_Thank you! What an amazing and thoughtful gift! Even more so for they are my favourite kind of sweets. Is your clairvoyance borne from your elfish heritage? Ha! I've been fighting a hard battle between gobbling them all or hoarding them like a miser hoards their gold. I think I've struck a balance of sorts between these two urges: eat at least one everyday. I tried to ignore it but I can't help commenting on the fact that this gift must have cost you quite a bit. I am extraordinarily flattered by your generosity, Legolas! Therefore, I've sent you a gift of my own. It's not as pricey as yours, but I'd like to believe it has great value all the same._

_Love,_

_Athena_

* * *

"Shite." 

It was only after the owl was a mere dot in the sky did Hermione realise her mistake. 

_Love, Athena…?_

Sweet Circe and all Her pretty pink dresses had she gone _mad_? Definitely. 

How could she not have noticed what she'd written on that missive? What had been on her mind when she'd scribbled that particular line? Was it even something worth worrying over? Would he even notice it? Would he care? 

And it dawned on her that she would like him to notice it, to care enough to reply with a similar sentiment. Did she love Legolas? No. But Merlin knew after three and a half months of sending letters back and forth, she was beginning to fancy the man. He was just so… _perfect_. Charming, humorous, intelligent, respectful and generous among many other fantastic qualities. And whenever she received a letter from him, a warm, excited feeling filled her belly and quickened her heartbeat. 

Legolas. Who was he, and was he too good to be true? Did she know him in real life? Beyond impossible. She'd yet to meet a man who made her feel the way Legolas did. 

_Well, isn't this just fantastic? Smitten with a man I've never seen and hardly even know._

Though she disagreed with the latter. She did know a lot about Legolas! In the course of their friendship, she'd learnt more about him and had shared more about herself than she had with even her closest friends. She knew his likes, his dislikes, his favourites, his hobbies, his fears, his hopes. She'd learnt about bits and pieces of his childhood and his adulthood. She'd even learnt that he'd been married once. 

The more she considered it, the less she felt embarrassed about her latest letter. Let him read into it as much as he wanted to. If he was interested in her, he'd give her a very clear indication. At least she hoped so. 

Whilst pondering on whether fancying one's penfriend was an awfully sad state of affairs, the bookshop's wind chime tinkled its song. When Hermione looked up, she found Draco Malfoy coming towards her. 

Immediately, she remembered her last encounter with Malfoy Senior three days ago, and even the Restaurant Incident too, and a fresh wave of humiliation accosted her. A horrifying thought came to her: what if Lucius Malfoy liked to go home and brag to his son about how Hermione Granger often transformed into the perfect klutz whenever in his presence? What if the two of them laughed it up, slapping their knees in hilarity while miming her falls, her tripping over air, and her stammering? 

Oh the horror! The shame! 

"Hello, Granger," greeted Draco quietly, watching her. 

She met his gaze shyly. "Hello, Malfoy. How are you?" 

"I'm good," he nodded. "You?" 

"I'm good, too." 

"Good." 

"Yes. Good." 

Silence. 

"Do you – " she began. 

"Can you – " he began as well. 

"No, go ahead," she urged. 

"No, that's alright. What were you going to say?" he insisted. 

"Well, I was just going to ask whether you needed help finding a book. You?" 

"Well, I was just going to ask whether you can help me find a book." 

And they shared a light, nervous laugh with each other. 

"Ok, obviously this is very strange for the both of us," she commented. 

"Obviously," he agreed. 

"What do you think we should do about this?" 

"Your guess is as good as mine." He shrugged. "Have lunch together, maybe? Reminisce a bit over shrimp and wine until we're comfortable with each other?" 

_Another_ Malfoy asking her out to lunch? Were they both falling and knocking their heads on stones? Or maybe they had been hit with a _Confundus_ charm? Somehow, they'd forgotten her heritage, the kind of blood that ran in her veins. They seemed to have stopped considering that she was the kind of person they ought not to associate with, let alone ask out to lunch. 

_Or maybe you're just being immature?_

It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Draco, "No, absolutely not," just like she'd done with his father, but that thought halted her. Was she being immature? 

_Yes. They're handing out olive branches and you're figuratively using a chainsaw to reject their offering. How could you say you've forgiven them? Why can't you just let bygones be bygones?_

She looked at Draco. Despite his attempt at nonchalance, she could easily read the hope in his eyes, the fear of being rejected. _He is not as skilled an actor as his father_ , she thought vaguely. _I could easily tell him no. Let him feel only a margin of the hurt I endured under his vile tongue during Hogwarts. I could…but I won't._

"That sounds like a great idea," she finally said, smiling at him. "But I can't leave. I don't have an assistant. Would it be okay if you brought it here instead?" 

For the second time in all her years knowing him, Draco smiled fully at her. 

"Not a problem, Granger." 

* * *

Since Hermione thought it not businesslike to eat in front of her customers, she and Draco decided to commence their Reconciliatory Lunch – or so she'd dubbed it – in her tiny storage room. Seated on cardboard boxes filled with books to support their weight, they talked at length about all manner of trivial things, and purposely evaded the heavier subjects like Hogwarts and the War. 

Hermione was surprised she enjoyed Draco's company. She'd so often associated him with negative emotions that her laughing at his jokes or her growing interested in whatever he had to say felt unreal. What was even more astonishing was the irritation she felt when their conversation was interrupted so she could attend to her customers' needs. 

They spoke for about two hours until Draco remembered he had one last class with the sixth year Gryffindor-Slytherin group for the day and had to leave. 

"Well, that was unexpectedly fun," he said as they exited the storage room together. 

Hermione grinned and was about to agree when a voice interjected, 

"Undoubtedly. I've never seen you so at ease, Draco." 

They froze simultaneously, both of them already aware of who had spoken. Turning to look ahead, they found Lucius watching them intently. 

"Father," said Draco stiffly. "What a surprise to find you here today." 

"I can say the same for you, Draco," replied Lucius. Then, his gaze sliding to meet Hermione's, "But perhaps not." 

Had Hermione been watching him, she might have seen the sudden colouring of Draco's face. But her eyes were focussed solely on Lucius as she struggled to quell the sudden fluttering in her stomach. For some reason, she felt both excited and guilty by the fact that Lucius had seen her exiting her storage room with Draco. Had he impressions that she and Draco had been up to naughty things in the room? How did he feel about that prospect? His lovely Pureblood son having dalliances with a dirty little Mudblood? 

His face was impassive; unreadable. She contemplated sidling closer to Draco to cement any assumptions he might be harbouring, and just when she'd made up her mind to do it, Draco edged away from her and towards his father. 

"I-I've got to get back," he said in a tight voice. Quickly looking back at her: "Thanks for the…err…lunch, Granger. See you tonight, father." And he rounded the nearest bookshelf, out of sight. The tinkling of the wind chime seconds later suggested he'd left quite hastily. 

Now, left in the more secluded section of her shop with only Lucius Malfoy, all of Hermione's excitement intensified, but a bit of fear began to edge its way in. As much as he tried to appear unperturbed, the darkening of his eyes suggested that he was not happy. Sense advised she ought to be very careful, for Lucius Malfoy was once a very dangerous man, and that men like him never stopped being dangerous even if they proclaimed differently to the gullible masses that believed them. 

_He won't hurt me._

_Don't be so sure…_

"D-do you need help, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, fighting to sound businesslike and failing mightily. 

"Yes, Miss Granger," he answered, coming slowly towards her, "I need your assistance on a very important enquiry." 

"C-concerning?" 

He was closer now. "Concerning why you'd swiftly reject my lunch offer but readily accept the one from my son." 

"How do you know it wasn't me who did the offering?" she challenged, stepping backwards. 

"You did not." He was in her personal space now, and still moving forwards. "Why?" 

She moved all the way back until her body met wall. She pursed her mouth stubbornly. "Why _not_?" Then, succumbing to the urge to provoke him, "Is it because I am what I am?" 

He was standing right in front of her, so close that when she looked up, she could see the fine hairs along his jawline, and feel the wispiness of his breathing on her forehead. So close that the merest movement from either one of them would ensure they touch. 

Who knew that fear, excitement, and the scent of lemon and rosemary were such a heady mix? If her racing heart wasn't being so exuberant, she might have fainted away like a proper damsel in distress. 

He leant his head down, far too close for Hermione's comfort. She leant her head back, away from his. 

Softly, "And what are you?" 

Sensible Voice told her to tell dear Mr Malfoy to kindly bugger the hell off and out of her bookshop, but she stood her ground. 

Her jaw set, eyes determined. "A Muggleborn. A…" She licked her lips. "…A _Mudblood_. You don't like Mudbloods. You don't like me." 

Lucius Malfoy's ensuing smile was so sly and devious, and so ridiculously _sexy_ , she couldn't help but stare in transfixed admiration. 

Very softly, very slowly, he replied, "If that were true, Miss Granger, would I do this…?" 

And he leant his face further down, his intentions clear. Sweet dancing bare-arsed Merlin he was going to kiss her! And like the perfect numpty to have ever been born this side of earth, she did not move, she did not push him away in a cry of disgusted horror. Instead, she stood rigid in part shock, part anticipation for the moment when his lips would meet hers and… 

"Hermione! Where the bloody hell are you? I've been waiting here an age, and now you've completely ruined my surprise!" 

_Ginny!_

And with these words, her senses returned, and so did her motor skills as she scuttled out of Lucius Malfoy's reach and off to meet her friend. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_My lovely Athena,_

_If ever I've cherished a gift, it is the one you've recently sent me. Fidelus Melkin's Potioneer's Extraordinaire Kit combined with his much sought after extensive cookbook of potion recipes – ah, how you've spoilt me. When I unwrapped the package, I felt like a very young boy who has been given all of his greatest gifts imaginable on Christmas Day. I'm afraid I may be falling in love with you._

_Now I feel absolutely ashamed of my meagre gift of sweets when compared to the invaluable one you've sent in return. Allow me to make amends. Doubtless your exquisiteness far exceeds it._

_Hoping you'll return this elf's growing affections,_

_Legolas_

* * *

"Fucking hell! Are those _diamonds_?" 

Holding the bracelet aloft, Hermione was far too shocked to even respond to Ginny's outburst. 

"Yes," she said faintly. She stared wide-eyed at the thin piece of jewellery that still managed to twinkle prettily even without direct light upon it. "Yes, it seems so." 

"Who sent it?" Ginny wandered closer to where Hermione sat on the sofa. "Was it that Legolas bloke you were telling me about yesterday?" 

"Yes," Hermione answered again in misty tones. "Yes, Legolas sent it." 

"Bloody, bloody hell," replied Ginny in an awed voice. "That looks so expensive, I'm sure it's worth what I make in four months. And I make _a lot_ of money." 

Hermione did not speak right away. She placed the bracelet back in its velvet coated container, gazed at it some more before resolutely replacing the lid on the box. 

"I'm sending it back." 

Ginny snatched the box out of her hands and away from her. There was a scandalised look on her face. "What? Don't be ridiculous!" 

"Ginny, I can't accept a gift like that!" Hermione protested as she attempted to retrieve the gift, but Ginny held it out of her reach. "It's too extravagant!" 

Springing to her feet, Ginny stood before Hermione, glaring down her freckled nose at her friend. Clutching the black rectangular box to her chest with her right hand, she flipped her hair ostentatiously over her left shoulder. 

"Rubbish. You know you want it." 

Hermione frowned but she did not respond. Ginny was right, of course. She _did_ want the bracelet. Its arrival was significant, as well as the letter that came along with it. 

Legolas fancied her. 

Well, at least she hoped so. 

Still, what more (or less) could she gather from such a luxurious gift? And his letter! He did say he was 'falling in love with her' and that he 'hoped she'd return his growing affections.' Wasn't that a clear enough sign that he was willing to take their relationship up a notch? Absolutely! 

She was shocked and exhilarated and terrified and anxious all at once. Where she sat on her living room sofa, she could feel her heart beating a little faster than normal as the most pertinent thoughts and questions circled through her mind: _I don't really know this man? Is this a good idea? He could be dangerous. What if he's not what I've believed him to be? What if he's actually an awful person who's been lying to me all this time?_

And when she voiced these concerns with Ginny, this was her response: 

"Hermione, it's a lot like if you'd met him in person, anyway. Like a blind date. The way I see it, this way is loads better. At least you can find out a bit more about him first before agreeing to a meet-up." 

"But, Ginny, that bracelet!" Hermione eyed the black box still clutched in her friend's hands. "I'd like to keep it but I don't feel comfortable accepting a gift like that." Here, her face became a mask of doubt. "What if he thinks it's…you know…a _down payment_?" 

Ginny smirked, a mischievous shine in her eyes. "A down payment for what?" 

Hermione bit her lip. "For…for _sex_. Sexual favours." 

Ginny's smirk deepened. "Do you want to have sex with him?" 

"No!" cried Hermione hotly. "I don't know. Not yet." 

Feigning ignorance, "But, Hermione, how are you two going to have sex if you're just sending each other letters? Are you going to write things like, 'Oh, Legolas! How I _long_ to feel your _big, hard cock_ —'" 

"Ginny!" 

Ginny laughed. "Right, right. Sorry. I won't tease you anymore. At least, not about the sex. Or the lack of it." 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ginny, as hard as it may be for you to comprehend, sex is not the be all and end all to life." 

Placing the box on coffee table, Ginny sat in the sofa again. Conjuring a brush, she proceeded to brush her already shiny hair into extra shininess. 

"So says the woman who hasn't got any nookie in over a year." She stopped brushing her hair for a moment to give Hermione a concerned look. "Hermione, I'm happy for you and this Legolas bloke, but ever since Seamus, you haven't been physical with anyone." And then, the smirk and mischievous look returned. "Well…except for Lucius Malfoy." 

Hermione's mouth opened partly in shock. She'd completely forgotten about that incident. And what an amazing feat, too, because for the past few days following that eventful day, she'd thought of nothing else. Before she went to bed, and just after she'd risen from it, all she'd thought about was the way Lucius Malfoy's face had come closer and closer, his head angling in _just that way_ , his lips milliseconds away from touching hers in a kiss that was doubtless in its intensity. 

Merlin. She'd just stood there. Stood there and waited for him to do it. Anticipating the moment. Her chest actually _heaving_ as she'd breathed fast and deep from the excitement, the novelty that Lucius Malfoy was on the verge of kissing her. 

That was a week ago. She'd not seen the man ever since. And during that time, she'd wondered: what would have happened had Ginny not interrupted? Well, of course, the obvious: they'd have kissed. But what then? What would have happened _after_ that? The shop had been fairly empty with one or two customers enjoying a read in their respective seats, and she and Lucius had been secluded in the back, the storage room – though tiny it may be – readily accessible… 

She would've kissed him back. Every single particle that made up her body knew, without a doubt, but with ample servings of shame, that she would have flung her arms around Lucius Malfoy's neck and kissed him back as hard and as with as much fervour as required. As a matter of fact, she might have done more at his provocation. 

Shameful. Utterly, utterly shameful. 

"We didn't do anything, though," mumbled Hermione. "Your loud mouth saw to that." 

Ginny paused her brushing, face alight with interest. "Is that disappointment I hear?" 

"No, it's relief, actually," Hermione lied, and she got to her feet. "Besides, I don't think he was serious. I think he was just trying to scare me off because he thought Draco and I had been snogging in the storage room." 

Ginny nodded as she placed the hair brush on the coffee table. "I wouldn't put it past Malfoy. He's one evil git when he wants to be." 

"Exactly," agreed Hermione. "Unlike Legolas, he's not a nice man. And the further I keep away from Lucius Malfoy, the better I will be." 

* * *

"Hello, Miss Granger." 

_Snap!_

Well, there went her recently purchased quill. And to think she'd paid a whole galleon for it. Why did she even bother buying breakable things? It seemed inevitable that she'd test their durability, especially when in the presence of Lucius Malfoy. Really. This clumsiness needed to stop. It was becoming repetitive to the point of being _annoying_. 

She'd been writing to Legolas wherein she had been thanking him for his overly generous gift, detailing her initial hesitancy to keep it, but how her friend had convinced her otherwise. She'd been just about to segue into a confession of her interest in furthering their relationship when, to her surprise, _he_ had interrupted her. 

She lifted her head so quickly, there was a short instance of pain in her neck. 

"What are you doing here?" fell from her mouth before she could stop herself. She'd had all intentions to say, "Hello, Mr Malfoy," in return but that ship had sailed. She considered rectifying her tone of voice to sound less caustic, but instead she stayed silent. 

He peered at her curiously. "To purchase a book per usual." He smiled. "Should there be any other reason?" 

Frowning, she couldn't subdue the angry undertones in her voice. "No, there really shouldn't. Just making sure you're not up to any more of your deviousness." 

Feigning innocence. "Pray tell, what sort of deviousness would I be engaged in?" 

Her frown deepened into a scowl. Pushing aside the parchment and the broken quill, she intertwined her fingers to appear professional and in control. 

In quiet, clipped tones: "Mr Malfoy, I did not appreciate that little stunt you pulled the other day. I ask that you never do it again or you will find yourself banned permanently from my bookshop." 

"A permanent ban? The punishment exceeds the crime." 

Irritated, "I beg to differ. You were trying to scare me off because you thought Draco and I were...were… _canoodling_ – " 

"Were you?" 

"O-of c-course not," she stuttered under his direct gaze, astonished by how important it had suddenly become for her to tell him the truth. "Draco and I didn't…w-we've never – " 

The intensity of his stare diminished. Softly, he said, 

"Good." Then: "I apologise, Miss Granger, for my behaviour. And to further demonstrate my remorse, I'd like to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening. Would that be acceptable?" 

Surprised and still struggling to retain a hold on her righteous indignation, she felt as though this had all happened too fast for her to comprehend. Later, she told herself that it was her confusion that led her to say: "I guess…" 

A very satisfied look graced Lucius Malfoy's face, and, nodding once, he turned away and left her bookshop. 

_What the…what just happened?_

* * *

_Legolas,_

_I've never seen nor received anything as beautiful as the bracelet you've sent me, and for you to claim with such confidence that mine outshines that of this lovely gift flatters me immensely._

_Yes. Of course I will return your affections. I quite like you very much, Legolas, and in 'that' way. I confess I've often thought about you outside of my writing you letters. Your charm and wit and humour are so alluring, and I feel as if I've known you my entire life already. Where have you been all this time?_

_A few nights ago, I tried to imagine what you looked like, but then I stopped myself because I felt as though to imagine another man's face would be doing you a disservice. I cannot help imagining your voice, though. From your letters, I've gathered you'll have one of those smooth voices. Cultured. When you speak, everyone listens, and maybe the way you talk gives everyone the impression that you're enigmatic. I'm sure you've applied it well in regards to having a few women do your bidding?_

_Your (not so) secret admirer,_

_-Athena_

* * *

Hermione stood by the door, outside of _Fred's_ , trying her best to calm her anxiety through deep breathing and talking to herself. 

Deep inhalation. "Ok, Hermione, you can do this." Deep exhalation. "It's just dinner." Deep inhalation. "It may not be a great idea." Deep exhalation. "But it's just dinner. With Lucius Malfoy." 

She looked down at her simple ensemble: a short-sleeved, button-down, hunter-green shirt, a slim pair of black trousers, and a comfortable pair of black ballet pumps. Although the pumps fit well with her clothing, she'd pondered wearing something a little more…sophisticated? Some fabulous heels. Probably a nicer top, too. And maybe instead of trousers, she should've worn that pretty red dress with the thin black belt she'd bought the other day – 

_No! This is fine. What I'm wearing is fine. No heels. Not after that debacle the other day in this same restaurant._

She exhaled one more time, resolved to get this done with as much expedience as possible. She'd had many opportunities throughout the day to send a missive to Lucius Malfoy rejecting his offer, but every time she'd sat down with parchment, quill and ink, she'd suffered with her conscience; her inability to be so impolite. From her mother's numerous lessons on manners, it was not good etiquette to accept someone's dinner invitation then reject them the very next day for no rhyme nor reason. 

Hoisting the straps of her small handbag a little more securely onto her shoulder, she smoothed her palms on the thighs of her trousers then made her way inside the restaurant. A quick turn of her head, and she spotted him sitting in the same inconspicuous corner he'd been in last. When approached by a waitress to be seated, she pointed at Lucius and walked to where he sat. 

He rose to his feet, and when she sat, so did he. Hermione eyed this with great interest. 

"And here I'd thought chivalry was dead," she commented. 

"Possibly. But I've intentions to continue its legacy." 

He intertwined his fingers and placed his hands on the table. Again, he'd taken off his robes, foregone the charcoal waistcoat, and was wearing…a hunter-green button down shirt. 

They noticed their similarity of clothing simultaneously. 

"What are the odds," he said, a small smile curving his lips. 

Hermione did not know whether she felt annoyed or amused. She half considered transfiguring her shirt into a different colour, but decided against it. So what if she and Lucius appeared as one of those couples that liked to dress alike? 

_We are_ not _a couple. This is just dinner._

She shifted nervously in her seat and then cleared her throat. "Why did you invite me to dinner, Mr Malfoy?" 

A waiter came by and enquired whether they'd like something to drink, or were ready to order. Hermione asked for orange juice. Lucius took water. 

"To apologise for my uncouth behaviour, of course," he finally answered after the waiter had departed. 

"I don't believe you," she said. "Men like you do not go to such great lengths for someone like me." 

The smile on his face disappeared. It was as if she'd been watching one still of Lucius Malfoy smiling, and some invisible hand had just pulled it away and left the original: straight mouth, impassive gaze. 

"You'd be surprised," he said in cryptic tones. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means as it sounds, Miss Granger. You do not know me well enough to declare so confidently what I would or would not do. I would never be so presumptuous towards you." 

Chastened with the knowledge that he was right, she replied in less biting tones, "I'm sorry. That was impolite. I just…" her eyes wandered over to the neighbouring tables, watching as the other guests enjoyed their meals and conversations. "You can't fault me for being sceptical, Mr Malfoy. I just can't believe you'd willingly invite me to dinner without some ulterior motive." 

"When did I deny that I have an ulterior motive?" 

She turned her head sharply to stare at him. "What?" 

The waiter came again, and irritated that the young man had delayed Lucius' response, she ordered the meal she'd had the last time with Harry and Ron. Lucius, however, took his own sweet time to make his choice, obviously aware of her growing impatience. 

When the waiter left again, she did not hesitate. "Do you have ulterior motives concerning me, Mr Malfoy?" 

"Miss Granger, it would not be called an 'ulterior motive' if I am to make you privy of it." 

She glared at him, her anger like a spit of fire that had been put out, but was now reignited. She got to her feet. 

"You have some gall, Mr Malfoy. You lured me here under false pretenses. I can't believe I fell for your ludicrous excuse. From this point on, stay the bloody hell away from me!" 

Grabbing up her handbag, Hermione swiftly made her way out of the restaurant, conscious of the many pairs of eyes following her. If the news that she'd been seen dining with the 'prestigious' Lucius Malfoy didn't make it into the Daily Prophet, then her angry departure – most likely spun by a glib writer into a 'lovers' spat' – surely would. 

She'd just taken her first steps out of the restaurant, and had been about to Apparate home, when someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. 

"That, Miss Granger, is going to be a problem," said Lucius, and before she could make an angry retort, or any kind of statement, really, he shoved her up against the wall of the restaurant, placed his palms against her cheeks and kissed her. 

Shock paralysed her. For a few seconds, what clouded her brain the most was the unavoidable, undeniable fact that _Lucius Malfoy was kissing her_. Lucius Malfoy's mouth was on hers. _Kissing_. 

She inhaled deeply. Lemon and rosemary. Her rigidity softened. And when Lucius dropped his hands from her face to coil her hands around his neck, she let him. And when he curved his hands around her waist to pull her against his body, she let him. And when he pried her lips apart with the tip of his tongue to deepen their kiss, sweet Merlin, she let him. 

_Stop it! Stop! Push him away!_

But how could she when, as soon as his tongue touched hers, it was as though some fire had kindled in her belly? Her hands had come to life, smoothing along the back of his neck, the tips of her fingers amidst the strands of his hair. Lucius kissed her and she kissed him back. Deeply, and with an urgency that was bordering on shameful as she pressed herself as close as possible against his front. 

And when they broke their kiss, they did not immediately pull apart. Their breaths mingled, their noses and foreheads touched. His hands were bunched in the material of her shirt, a few of his fingers grazing her bare skin, and her hands were still wrapped around his neck. 

"You taste like oranges," he said softly. 

This was bad. Wasn't it? 

This was wrong. Wasn't it? 

She liked Legolas. She did not like Lucius Malfoy. 

Lucius Malfoy was not a good man. He hated her? She hated him? Was that it? 

He released her. Weakly, she did the same. 

"Goodnight, Miss Granger." 

"Goodnight, Mr Malfoy." 

And he went back inside the restaurant. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_I kissed Lucius Malfoy._

_And I liked it._

Hermione flung herself face down onto her bed, and in a stint of immaturity, screamed into her mattress while beating her hands on the springy surface like a child in the throes of a tantrum. Revolving in her head non-stop ever since she'd got home from her dinner with Lucius: 

_I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed—_

_Be quiet, brain!_

But her brain disobeyed. It replayed every single millisecond before and after their kiss with such astounding clarity, it was as though she were reliving the moment. Even now, the memory of Lucius Malfoy's lips on hers, his hands on her sides remained. If she concentrated, she could even remember the scent of his cologne. 

Merlin's saggy balls! How she wanted to forget. She wanted to forget it had all ever happened, yet, deep, deep down, past the entrenched denial, she did _not_ want to forget. That ignored part of her glorified in the knowledge – or fanciful idea – that she had somehow managed to obtain the interest of the president of Muggleborn Hater International enough for him to kiss her. 

_Or, as you've been suspecting thus far, it could be a ploy for a greater and much more devious agenda._

Her body grew still. 

What if that was the case? What if he was out to seduce her for some nefarious purpose? After all, he _did_ mention an 'ulterior motive.' But then, if he was concocting an evil scheme concerning her, why would he hint at it? And when she considered it further, after all of his struggles to clear his and his family's name from their past wrongdoings, his public disassociation with his erstwhile Death Eater comrades, and his continued donations to charities and foundations that supported victims of the War, why, then, would he return to his old ways? Most importantly, why would he target the most known Muggleborn, Harry Potter's best friend? 

The more she thought about it, the more she doubted Lucius Malfoy had any designs on her, but, she would be a fool if she believed him completely guileless. He wanted something, but she just did not know what. And instead of lollygagging, instead of allowing herself to fancy him so easily, she ought to confront him and demand the truth. 

And come the next time she encountered him, she was going to do just that. 

* * *

_Athena_

_I, too, imagine your features in moments of solitude. I've gathered bits and pieces about you from our letters, and coupled with some imaginative license, I've managed to construct your face in my mind._

_You once mentioned you've curly hair, and were oft teased by your peers because it was particularly unmanageable during your formative years. For some reason, I imagine it to be the colour of russet, and perhaps your eyes might be the same. They'd be friendly, yet cautious. Intelligent. Your lips would be soft and full. Perfect for tasting and kissing, and yet so easy to tighten in a pout when you are angry or determined to have your way._

_Perhaps you look nothing like what I've described. Correct me if that is the case. There is more, but if I were to confess all that I've fantasised about you, Athena, doubtless you would proclaim me perverted and cease sending me letters. Unless you don't mind?_

_Shamefully besotted,_

_-Legolas_

* * *

"And _do_ you mind, Hermione?" 

Face red, Hermione quickly flipped Legolas' recent letter facedown on her desk's surface and turned on her stool to confront a smirking Ginny. The stool wobbled with the sudden movement but she managed to keep it grounded by holding on to the desk's edge. 

"Ginny! Were you reading behind my back?" 

Ginny's smirk did not diminish. "'Shamefully besotted?' Quite the charmer, isn't he?" 

Hermione blushed harder. "Aren't you supposed to be helping me unpack the new shipment of books?" 

"Unlike you and your old-fashioned Muggle habits, I prefer to do things with magic." She folded her arms. "Mum's taught me lots how to get things done fast. Besides, the operative word here is 'help.' I was to be helping _you_ , but here you were with the silliest smile on your face as you read your love letters." 

A guilty look on her face, Hermione replied: "I'm sorry, Gin. I couldn't help it. The owl came and I just had to read his reply." 

Ginny made a dismissive motion with her hand. "I don't fault you. He's a fantastic sweet-talker." 

Hermione smiled wistfully. "He's more than that. So much more. I just…I've never met anyone like him. Sometimes, I think he's the perfect man, and that's rubbish! Nobody's perfect. I'm very sure he's got all sorts of flaws I don't know as yet. There are going to be things I don't like about him. But for now, I really, _really_ fancy Legolas and – what? What is it?" She broke off for Ginny had suddenly begun mouthing the words, "Stop. Stop talking," while darting pointed looks behind her. 

Hermione turned sharply on her stool, and surprised by the sight of Lucius Malfoy for the first time since their kiss three weeks ago, off she tumbled to the floor with an unladylike expletive escaping her mouth. 

Ginny knelt swiftly to help her to her feet, but Hermione swatted her hands away, and remained sprawled on her carpet. There commenced a series of harsh whispering. 

"How long has he been standing there?" 

"Ever since you began talking about Le -" 

"Shh!" 

"- about _you-know-who_." 

"Do you think he heard everything?" 

"Definitely!" 

"Oh sweet Merlin!" 

"Miss Granger? Miss Weasley? Surely it does not take quite that long to rise from a fall. Unless you're hurt, Miss Granger? Do you require medical attention?" 

Silence. 

"Or unless you're avoiding me, Miss Granger? If that is the case, that's hardly polite or intelligent. I need only to come around your desk to find you." 

The whispering returned: "Why are you avoiding him?" 

"We kissed three weeks ago!" 

Shocked, Ginny spoke in her regular voice, "Seriously?" 

"Shh!" 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in shame. Ginny, for the first time, looked unsure what to do. 

"Very well. I will come around, then." 

Hermione scrambled to her feet, and so did Ginny. 

She cleared her throat. Swallowed. Avoided eye contact with Lucius. 

"Th-that won't be necessary, Mr Malfoy. I'm unhurt, as you can see. I just…we just…err -" 

"One of Hermione's earring fell off and we were searching for it," Ginny supplied, eyes round and innocent. "Hard little buggers to find. No disrespect meant." 

Lucius eyed Hermione's bare, earring-less ears, his eyebrows lifted in such a way as if to say, "Do you really expect me to believe that?" But instead, he said, "I see," and then Ginny chose that moment to proclaim, "Well! Got to get back to unpacking those books, Hermione!" and, smiling, left Hermione and Lucius by themselves. Alone. In silence. 

"Do you want something?" she asked, daring to meet his gaze. 

He stared right back. "Yes." 

Why did she feel like he was not talking about books? 

Excitement coursed through her bloodstream. "What do you want?" 

He leant closer. "I was wondering if I could have you…" 

Her eyes grew wide, her heart began thumping faster. She'd never felt so astonished, and yet so pleased in her life. Lucius Malfoy wanted - 

"…order a copy of Fidelus Melkin's _Potioneer's Encyclopaedia_?" 

He smiled. 

"Oh," she replied, fighting to mask her disappointment. "Oh, alright. Yes. Certainly. I'll put in an order right away." Then, trying not to sound hopeful: "I-is that all, Mr Malfoy?" 

"Yes. Thank you, Miss Granger. Good day." 

Quietly, "Good day." 

And he left her bookshop. 

* * *

_Legolas,_

_I wouldn't mind._

_I'd really like to hear how far your fantasies have carried you._

_-Athena_

* * *

_Athena,_

_I've often thought about the way your face would contort, the way your breasts would taste in my mouth, the way you'll feel on me, around me as I fucked you._

_Does that shock you, my dear?_

_I hope so._

_-Legolas_

* * *

_Legolas,_

_Yes. It does. Who knew your mouth could be so dirty. And here I'd been under the impression you were too cultured to be so coarse. Is it shameful to admit I like it?_

_I've often thought about you fucking me, too. I suspect you'd be very good._

_Do you smell that? It's 'Love-Ink.' I discovered it while shopping for new ink. In a thoroughly girlish fit, I bought it. Do you like it?_

_I'm not usually this brazen, but you bring out the worst – or maybe the best? – in me._

_-Athena_

* * *

_Athena,_

_Too cultured to be so coarse? Indeed, you bring out the worst – or best – in me as well._

_Yes, I do. It has the sweet, alluring scent of roses. I imagine you'd smell the same. And, perhaps, taste the same? No. You'd taste far more delectable._

' _Very good?' No. I'll be your best. I assure you._

_-Legolas_

* * *

"Well, I'm off." 

At the sound of Ginny's voice, Hermione quickly refolded Legolas' recent letter and tucked it into her pocket. Standing, she went and hugged her friend. 

"Thanks for visiting, Gin. It was great having you for the month." 

Ginny smiled. "It was great being had. Thank Merlin I didn't have to stay with mum. She'd have driven me mad." 

Hermione grinned in return. "Well, you rarely get holidays this long. No sense wasting it on insanity, right?" 

"True. And I did get a lot of research done for this new project I'm on." She shuffled her rucksack a little higher onto her shoulder and hugged Hermione again. "Anyway, I've got to head off. I've got to meet Mark in the next five minutes. The Port-Key will be activated soon." 

She went and grabbed up a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Then, turning to Hermione with her tell-tale mischievous smile, 

"Owl me the details when you do meet up with Legolas, yeah? You know, if he's handsome, if he's as nice in person, if he's a good fu-" 

"Ginny!" 

Cackling, Ginny stepped into the fireplace and waved goodbye before calling out her destination and zipping away to it. 

Hermione stood there in front of the fireplace for some time, smiling at the spot where Ginny had once stood. All of a sudden, she felt lonely. Sharing her flat with Ginny for the past month had been the most fun she'd had in some time. Ginny's vibrancy was infectious, and her dirty mind filled with even dirtier jokes had leant itself to days of continued hilarity. 

Ginny had been given a month's holiday after her big success breaking an incredibly powerful curse on a tomb in Egypt. And now that the month was up, she'd been called away to Rome for another huge project that involved the undergrounds of Vatican City. Even though she was mere minutes away via Port-Key, Hermione was still going to miss her. 

Returning to the sofa, Hermione retrieved Legolas' letter and read it again, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Ginny was right. He was quite the sweet-talker, wasn't he? And ridiculously overconfident, too. _I'll be your best. I assure you._ Oh, please. When – _if_ – they had had sex, she had half the mind to voice her great disappointment (even if untruthfully) afterwards. That'll serve his arrogant arse. 

_Sex with Legolas. What would it be like?_

She closed her eyes and began to imagine herself on a bed – 

_That's awfully boring._

Okay, the floor, then. On her living room carpet – 

_Ugh. Carpet burns? No thanks._

_Fine_ . Bent over her kitchen counter like a proper tart, her legs spread wide. And he'd be right behind her. Yes. Right behind her, his cock out, hard and ready and waiting. Thick. And she'd already be so wet for him, yearning to feel him deep and full in her. Impatient for his cock. So impatient that she'd turn around and grab it and stroke it and pump it, watching as his slate-grey eyes turned darker. He'd like that. He'd like it. He'd like it as she pumped him and then eased herself onto him before pulling away. Eased on, pulled off. Eased on, pulled off. Just a taste. Just a tantalising taste. _Fuck_. _Yes_. He'd bow his head to watch, strands of blond hair falling over his shoulders. And he'd like it. Like the sight of it. But she'd still ask him if he did. She'd ask him: "You like that, don't you, Lucius? Don't you? _Don't you, Lucius?_ " 

Hermione's eyes flew open, horrified, firstly, that she'd inadvertently transposed Legolas for Lucius Malfoy in her sex fantasy, and, secondly, that she'd somehow worked her hand into her knickers and had began to touch herself. Springing to her feet, she ran to the bathroom to wash her hands, conscious of the heavy wetness between her legs. 

When she'd finished washing and drying her hands, she sat on the lid of the toilet, rested her elbows on the tops of her thighs and covered her face with her palms. 

Dear Merlin, help her. She wanted two different men. 

_Time for a threesome!_

Absolutely not! Obviously Ginny's dirty-mindedness had rubbed off on her just a bit. 

Still, it was undeniable: she was attracted to both Legolas and Lucius Malfoy. What was she to do? She couldn't be with them both. Not to mention, there was the little fact that, as of yet, she was unaware of Lucius Malfoy's intentions towards her. He'd kissed her, and then three weeks later he'd finally shown his face again only to pretend as if nothing had happened between them. 

_Maybe it's because he'd overheard me talking about Legolas?_

Would that deter Lucius Malfoy from pursuing her? Did she _want_ Lucius Malfoy to pursue her? Why would she want to be involved with such a complicated man? Legolas, on the other hand, had been nothing but straightforward. 

And, if she employed her infallible tactic of list-making: 

_Legolas – kind, honest, charming, polite, witty, I know lots about him now that we've kept up a correspondence for more than six months._

_Lucius – I hardly know anything about him besides he's handsome, he was once a prejudiced bastard (probably still is), he was once married, and he has a son as old as me._

Wasn't it wiser she chose a man least likely to prevent any outrage once her close friends discovered his identity? Wasn't it a lot more pleasant she chose a man with whom she did not already share a turbulent past? Wasn't it simpler she chose a man that did not always keep her guessing? So, wasn't it logical that her only choice should be _Legolas_? 

Yes. 

But it really was a shame that her heart had thrown logic out the window ages ago. 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight _  
_ **

_Legolas,_

_Are you one of those believers of 'everything happens for a reason'? I've the suspicion you view life a lot more clinically than that. I think I'm a bit in between. Every action has a reaction, of course, but then again, some things are like fate and are bound to happen no matter what direction or path you choose. For instance, you and I meeting could be explained scientifically: we both applied for a penfriend service, and got what we paid for – a penfriend. But then, we each could have been matched with someone else. We each could've been paired with someone not quite to our liking. However, Fate intervened. Fate knew that we'd be the perfect fit for each other._

_-Athena_

* * *

"Here." 

She handed him the bag of frozen vegetables she'd retrieved – or yanked, if one judged from her huffing and puffing afterwards – from the depths of her freezer. He eyed the package as disdainfully as one could with one good eye, and the other swiftly turning an unpleasant shade of purple. 

"What am I to do with the frozen produce, Miss Granger? _Eat_ it?" 

She rolled her eyes. "No, silly. You're to place it over your eye. It'll ease the pain while I look for my bottle of Murtlap Essence." 

"Dittany is best," he replied as he took the proffered bag of vegetables grudgingly. With one final distasteful look at the bright yellow packaging with the smiling carrots and peas on it, he placed it on his purpling left eye. 

Hermione frowned at him. "Well, I'm very sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I, unlike you, do not have the means necessary to purchase Dittany." 

He pinned her with his unobstructed eye. "Assumptions once again, Miss Granger. I make it myself." 

"Really?" She could not hide her surprise. "What next? You're going to confess your secret hobby as a Potions Master?" 

"Is that so impossible to believe?" 

She eyed his expensive robes draped over the back of her sofa, the silver ring with its emerald inset on his finger, his dragon hide boots… 

"Yes. It is. It's hard to conceive you labouring your days and nights away over a steamy, smelly cauldron." She then smirked at his hair: shiny and healthy. "After all, I don't think you'll ever suffer the injustice of lanky hair." 

"As hard as it is to conceive me kissing you, and you kissing me in return?" 

Her smirk disappeared instantly, and was replaced with the rapid reddening of her face. The wind out of her sails, she was reduced to her usual stammering. 

"I…err...Right. I-I'll go look for that Murtlap Essence." 

And off she scurried to locate the potion. 

* * *

_An hour earlier_

Hermione did not only sell books in _Tea & Tome_. Occasionally, she was requested to repair and restore them as well. Sometimes, a book's ink had so faded it was illegible, or its binding had snapped, or the pages torn or scrawled upon by a mischievous child. She did not accept every request, only the books that looked particularly challenging to restore, or were of a valuable nature. 

Book restoration was difficult work. It required intense concentration, patience to stay in one position for long lengths of time, and tenacity to see it through to the finish. The non-magical books were the easiest as they had no interfering power while she worked on them. However, magical books often carried their own aura. Most of the time magical books were just as simple as non-magical ones to restore, but occasionally, she'll encounter a book determined to defy her. 

These defiant books even exhibited a few human traits: stubbornness to be opened, unwillingness to be fixed, or anger when she pointed her wand at them (they liked to snap their pages at her fingers). Hermione did not mind, though, for in time she'd come to realise, like some humans, these books had suffered either abuse or neglect from their owners, and were reacting defensively. She'd also come to learn that if she touched them gently or sang nursery rhymes to them, eventually they became less averse to being fixed. 

Hermione liked repairing books, not only because she enjoyed seeing them restored to their former magnificence, or because they were like exciting puzzles just waiting to be solved. Most pleasurable was the handsome payment she received when she'd completed it. A successful restoration often garnered the same value as if she'd sold seven of her priciest books, and since it usually took her a week to fix a book, the compensation was greatly rewarding. 

Currently, Hermione was trying her best to revitalise the ink of one of the most expensive books she'd ever received. It was a book of poems by a famous German poet named Gerald Blau, and his great-great-great-great niece, wanting to sell it for as much gold as she could get, had commissioned Hermione to restore it. But try as she might, the book refused to keep Hermione's ink enhancements. 

Two weeks had already passed, ten different nursery rhymes had been sung (some in awkward, halting German), and continuous gentle rubbing had been given, and still the book remained intractable. Frustrated, Hermione scowled at the small, black book. 

"Why won't you take my changes?" she grumbled. 

"Perhaps you are not using the appropriate methods." 

Still scowling, she looked up and met Lucius Malfoy's gaze. 

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, not trying to hide her irritation. 

Nonchalant, "Long enough." 

"And what do you know about book restoration, anyway?" she challenged. 

"Not much, I confess," he replied. 

"Exactly." 

"But my inexperience does not discount my advice, Miss Granger," he continued. "As well as it is known: if you've tried an avenue repeatedly and it does not work, then it is time to consider another." 

"And what other avenue should I consider, Mr Malfoy?" she asked in snarky tones. 

"Asking for help, of course." 

She lifted an eyebrow. "From who? You?" 

He gave her a look that clearly showed he questioned her intelligence. 

"We've already established that I've no authority in this field, Miss Granger," he answered in dry tones. "I meant that you should request assistance from a compeer." 

"Right. Of course." _Of course_ , she thought, looking at the book, and angry with herself for not considering that idea sooner. Consulting with another book repairer should have been her first decision once she'd acknowledged the futility of her efforts. But she _hadn't_ acknowledged it. Just as obstinate as Gerald Blau's book of poems, she'd been determined to solve the puzzle all on her own, no matter how frustrated she became. Unfortunately, it was taking time, she'd not made any headway, and she had only two days remaining before she had to return the book to the niece. 

She lifted her eyes to meet his again, smiling shyly. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I apologise for my snappishness earlier." 

He leant forward, and it was then Hermione noticed his hair was free of its usual ribbon. A few strands fell over his shoulder, and their movement sparked remembrance of the sex fantasy she'd had of him. She remembered the lewd scene she'd imagined, the way she'd been bent over her kitchen counter, her legs spread, Lucius behind her, in her, filling her, fucking her… 

Her face grew hot, and she could no longer meet his gaze for an irrational fear that he'd immediately know her thoughts overcame her. It also galled her that with the memory came the thought: what would it be like having sex with Lucius Malfoy? Would it be as fantastic as she'd imagined? She dared a glance at him again. He was watching her. Yes, it'd be very good. _Insanely_ good. She just knew it, and this knowledge made her blush even harder. 

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" he asked, and Hermione refused to believe his tone of voice had taken on a silken flavour. 

"Yes. Of course. I-I'm quite…I'm very alright. Very much so," she babbled, avoiding his gaze, and pretending to be suddenly busy. "I've just got so many things to do. So many, many things, of course. Lots. So I don't think I can…" she got down quickly off her stool, "…I don't think I can talk anymore. With you. Not that I don't _like_ talking to you…I really like talking to you. I just have many things…right. OK." 

She grabbed up her wand and the book, and practically ran to the storage room. 

* * *

Ten or so minutes later after trying to will Lucius Malfoy out of her shop, Hermione finally decided to stop hiding and return to her desk. Exhaling heavily, she got up from the box she'd been sitting on, and told herself that it wasn't good business practices to keep customers waiting, or leave them unattended. It was times like these she wished for an attendant. Someone to help her with the customers when she needed a quick moment for herself. Unfortunately, she hadn't a steady enough income as yet to pay an employee. Nevertheless, it probably wouldn't hurt to acquire someone part-time – or maybe even a teenager willing to accept a greatly reduced pay. 

Although she knew he was still in her shop, Hermione harboured hope that some urgent business had suddenly called him elsewhere in her absence. If that wasn't the case, then at least, when he came to make his purchase, he'd move along swiftly and out of her bookshop. She really ought to ban him. Just for her peace of mind. In any case, she was going to close in the next forty-five minutes, so he would have to leave. Evening had rolled in, and she was tired and hungry. She might even close earlier. 

Cautiously, she opened the door and peered outside. Quiet – which was not unusual because, after all, it was a bookshop. Still, probably he'd left – 

"Miss Granger, I did not want to believe it, but my eyes do not deceive me. You are hiding from me." 

She turned her head sharply to the right and found Lucius leaning his shoulder against the wall, his arms folded, facing her. 

She struggled to sound haughty but failed. Words tumbled from her mouth instead, "That's ridiculous! I'm not hiding from you. Why would I be hiding from you? If I'm hiding, it'd mean I'm afraid of you, and I'm not afraid of you, Mr Malfoy. Why would I be? And why are standing there, anyway? Have you been lay-waiting me? Why would you be – " 

He stood up straight, reached out, grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. She did not go willingly. Her left hand held fast to the door knob as she tried to yank her other hand from his grip. She was momentarily victorious when her hand slipped free, but he recaptured it, walked her backwards to press her against the door, and forcefully extricated her fingers from the door knob. He pulled her again and pressed her up against the wall. 

She glared up at him. "I can't believe you have the gall to manhandle me like this! If you hurt me, I swear I will – " 

"Miss Granger, be quiet." 

And still holding her hands between their bodies, he bent his head and kissed her. 

Hermione hadn't expected a kiss and was surprised when she received one. Her body grew still for a moment as her brain caught up to speed. Lucius Malfoy was kissing her…again. And she thought, _this is unreal_ , then, _but it's quite pleasant_. And she allowed him to kiss her, allowed herself to kiss him. 

Their mouths opened, their tongues touched, tasted. The kiss deepened, became hungrier. All this time they'd been toeing the line, but now they'd crossed it. When Lucius released her hands, she wrapped them around his neck and pulled him as close as was possible. Breasts squashed against his chest, she kissed him with unashamed greediness. 

She wanted him so badly, the yearning felt like a physical pain thrumming insistently in her lower belly. Seconds ago, she'd been fighting him, and now, she behaved as if his proximity to her body was akin in its necessity as oxygen to her lungs. _Every action has a reaction_. What would the consequence be to have a man like Lucius Malfoy? Did she even care? 

_Too fast_ , she thought, and yet she did not stop. She did not stop him when his mouth meandered from her lips and down to the side of her neck. She did not stop him when his hand glided up beneath her shirt to cup her breast through her bra. She did not stop him when his other hand drifted to the buttons on her trousers… 

"Don't stop," she whispered. 

"Father? _Granger_?" 

Outdoing marble statues, Hermione and Lucius became rigid. 

"Father! What the hell are you doing to Granger?" 

Lucius recovered first. He withdrew his hand from beneath Hermione's shirt, unhooked her stiffened arms from around his neck, straightened, and turned to look at Draco. 

Coolly, "Must I explain the workings of sexual intercourse to you again, Draco?" 

_OK, Earth, work your magic. I need a hole to hide in. Please provide it. Abracadabra Boomshakalaka! Open Sesame!_

Or maybe it was better she use real magic and create a hole for herself. Or _maybe_ , she should just Apparate away from this moment. This undeniably mortifying moment. 

"You bastard," Draco said with loathing. Hermione could not see his face for Lucius' frame blocked her, but she had little doubt it was contorted in anger. "You sick bastard. You knew I…you knew how I felt, and you still…How could you, father?" 

_How he felt? Felt about what?_

Lucius stepped forwards. "Draco, I didn't mean to – " 

" _Don't fucking apologise_! Don't you dare!" Draco shouted. "You're not sorry. You're never sorry, you bastard!" And in a fit of rage, Draco Malfoy pulled his fist back and punched his own father. Lucius staggered backwards, nearly squishing Hermione where she stood behind him. Embarrassment forgotten, Hermione cried out his name uselessly, as she eased herself away from the wall to stand before Lucius. His hand covered his left eye, but he was still conscious. 

Hermione turned on Draco. "Draco, how could you –" but her words were cut short when she saw the look on Draco's face as he stared at her. There was no anger, no hate, only hurt, betrayal, and disappointment. 

_You knew I…you knew how I felt…_

Oh. _Oh_. 

She was simultaneously refilled with shame and tired of suffering it. Stepping closer, "Draco, I'm sorry, I-I didn't know. I –" 

"Right," he said stiffly. "Well, now you do." 

He turned and walked away. 

* * *

The bottle of Murtlap Essence was found in the bottom drawer of her bedside table. Only one third of the liquid remained, but she believed it would be enough for Lucius' bruised eye. He'd not wanted to go to the local medicentre, and she'd not trusted him to Apparate home safely. She'd also been unwilling to Side-Along Apparate to Malfoy Manor for fear of meeting Draco there, so she'd brought him to her flat instead. 

She sat on the bed for a moment to think. 

_What an eventful day._

The memory of Draco's face, the hurt and betrayal etched clearly in his features loomed large and lucid in Hermione's mind. She closed her eyes as guilt washed over her. How could she have done that to him? How awful it must have been for him to see the girl he fancied snogging another man ardently. The other man being his father at that. 

And if she judged from Draco's words, Lucius had known Draco had fancied her. So why had he pursued her, then? Had…had it all just been a game to him? To see if he could have her before his son? Could – no, _would_ – Lucius Malfoy be that wicked? That heartless? Totally disregard his son's and her feelings only to sate some sick, competitive urge? 

_Yes._

She sprang up from the bed, a range of emotions coursing through her. This situation had a solution: get the truth from Lucius. How many times had she told herself to do just that? And still, she'd yet to follow her own advice. Well, he was in her flat now. There was no avoiding it this time. She was going to demand the truth and he was going to give it. 

Marching out of her bedroom and down the short hallway to her living room, she began, 

"Mr Malfoy, I need to –" 

But Lucius Malfoy was no longer there. In his place was the bag of frozen vegetables on her coffee table – now leaking moisture onto the glass surface – and a piece of parchment lying beside an opened bottle of ink, the quill still inside. The parchment only contained a short note in a familiar handwriting. Vaguely, Hermione realised that it resembled Legolas'. It read, 

_Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Granger. Until next time,_

_-LM_

* * *

_Athena,_

_Actually, I've often been one to believe in destiny. I think that if given four paths, regardless that you will encounter different journeys on each path, they will all lead to similar destinations. It may be thrilling to consider our reality weak, and easily susceptible to the slightest change, but I doubt this. Even if time-turning is considered, I am of the opinion that whatever a time-turner changes in the past, only delays it in the future. Therefore, forgive me if I don't find our meeting very surprising, for I sincerely believe that whatever path I had chosen in life, my sweet Athena, it would have somehow led me to you._

_-Legolas_


	9. Chapter NIne

**Chapter Nine** _  
_

_Legolas,_

_I've been thinking that maybe it's time we meet. Tomorrow, it will be eight months since we've been sending letters to each other. Can you believe it? Spring and summer have long since flown by, now we are in autumn, and nearly a year ago, we had not known the other existed. Now, it's as if we've known each other for years. I'd really like to see you, Legolas. Tell me you feel the same way._

_-Athena_

* * *

_Athena,_

_Yes. I'd like that very much. I've hoped for so long you'd suggest it, for I've feared your rejection had I done so earlier. When and where would you like us to meet? Would you prefer I choose a venue?_

_-Legolas_

* * *

_Legolas_

_How about this Friday evening around eight at 'Fran's'? Do you know it? It's a nice little bistro with great wine, and it's a ten minute walk away from my flat. Maybe afterwards you can come over for tea? Does that sound OK?_

_-Athena_

* * *

_Athena,_

_Wonderful._

_-Legolas_

* * *

Hermione exhaled heavily, unaware that she'd been holding her breath. She felt as if she'd just made one of the hugest decisions of her life, and that she was ill-prepared for the consequences. Conflicted, one half of her demanded she rewrite Legolas and immediately call off their meeting. It claimed that she was not ready for the reality that was Legolas. What if he was not what she had expected? After all, ignorance is bliss, and the more she delayed meeting him, the longer she could cling to her fantasies. 

The other half, however, cheered her on. _You've been corresponding with him for nearly a year,_ reasoned the imaginary spokesperson in her head, _there's no sense waiting any longer._ And she agreed with this logic. Why wait? They'd progressed from penfriends to pen…lovers? Yes, that, because there was hardly anything 'friendly' about their letters of late. Unless being friendly also incorporated copious use of sexual innuendos, and erotic notes… 

Nevertheless, she'd sent him the request and he had accepted. Begging off now would be cowardly and discourteous. Besides, she wanted to meet him, and, likewise, he wanted to meet her. And regardless superficial thoughts such as, " _What if he's hideous? What if he's old like Ginny had teased?"_ had sprung up in her mind, she was going to follow through with their plans and have as good a time as she possibly could. 

_Am I only doing this because of Lucius?_

Hermione pondered this new thought. She tried to be as unbiased and as untruthful as she could with herself since denial was useless and a great waste of time and energy. Had she expedited her meeting with Legolas because of Lucius Malfoy? _Possibly_. Why? _So that I can forget about him and move on._ Why? _Because he's an evil git who's been playing games with me all this time, and has moved on ever since I discovered his motives…_

Was she using Legolas, then? To an extent. But she convinced herself that it wasn't as awful as it sounded, because she did fancy Legolas. It wasn't a case where Legolas was her lesser liked second choice – the one for which she was 'settling.' OK, so maybe Lucius Malfoy did evoke far more intense feelings within her, but that had a perfectly acceptable explanation: his proximity; the fact that he was present for her to see, and touch, and…and _kiss_ … 

But Legolas evoked passion from her, too! And that was remarkable since they'd only corresponded through letters. Just imagine what would happen when they finally met. Sizzle! Electricity! Fireworks! She'd be so worked up that when they finally took that extra step and made love, her orgasms would be so mind-blowing she'd pass out from the intensity. She was sure of it! 

So, to get back on track: it didn't really matter that Legolas was being used to distract her. He would never know. However, Lucius Malfoy seemed to have found something (or _someone_ ) to do the same. Ever since that fiasco with Draco two months ago, she'd not seen the man, which in turn further convinced her he'd been up to some deviousness. Draco was right. He _was_ a sick bastard. He was not worth her time or her thoughts, and the quicker she forgot about his existence, the better. 

As a matter of fact, during her shopping for new clothing to wear on her date – yes, a date! – with Legolas, she was going to purchase a signboard to hang on her bookshop's main window upon which she'd charm it to read: 'Lucius Malfoy, you are officially banned from this establishment. Should you step even a _toe_ upon this property, the authorities will be immediately notified. Have a nice day!' 

That'll do it. 

* * *

To Hermione's great annoyance, the days preceding Friday crawled at a caterpillar's pace. She thought about her date with Legolas often, and anxiety and excitement filled her whenever she did so. She worried about her appearance being unsatisfactory, or, worse, that even though they each were like a well overflowing with words, that come Friday, their conversations would be awkward at best, dreary at worst. 

What if, since they'd already spoken about any and everything under the sun, they had nothing remaining to say when they were in person? What if her 'Embarrassment Gene' kicked in? For instance: food stuck in her teeth, or laughing so hard at one of his jokes she snorted unattractively, or when she got up to use the loo, she overturned wine on his trousers, or, worse, _returning_ from the loo, she had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe… 

Her mind conjured various scenarios where her date with Legolas resulted in disaster, though she usually managed to restrain her imagination when it became too wild. She kept repeating to herself that everything was going to be fine, and that her nervousness was unwarranted. She was doing just that on Friday afternoon while replacing a few books in their correct spots on the bookshelves when the wind chime sounded. 

Carrying the remaining three books with her, Hermione headed to her desk to assist the newcomer. It was Draco Malfoy. 

Guilt and shame churned anew within her stomach, and she struggled to maintain eye contact with him. Trying to smile and failing miserably, she said, 

"Hi, Draco. How are…err…do you…can I help you? A book?" She cleared her throat once. "Do you need a book?" 

He gazed at her for a short moment, but to Hermione it felt like a thousand years. If she'd been given even the tiniest opportunity to run away and hide, she'd have taken it with head-turning speed. Gryffindor courage? She'd been lacking it of late. 

"No," he finally said, his tone not very friendly, but not quite unfriendly either. "I've come to apologise, actually." 

She bit the corner of her bottom lip before replying, "Draco, you don't need to apologise. It…it wasn't your fault, and if I – what are you…Draco, what are you –" 

Her words were cut short for Draco had suddenly rounded her desk and grabbed her up against him. Before she could fully understand or prepare for his next move, he'd bent his head and crushed his mouth against hers. She was so shocked, she didn't move at first, but when he angled his head to the right and began forcing his tongue between her lips, Hermione's limbs began working again, and she pressed her hands against his chest and shoved him away. 

She was so angry, she couldn't speak. Deeply, she inhaled and exhaled as she pressed her palm against her lips and glared at Draco. 

He closed his eyes and turned away from her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." He turned around again, a sharp movement that whipped his robes around his ankles. He stepped towards her, and she stepped backwards, still unable to speak. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I just…I had to do it. I shouldn't have, but I've always wanted to do it. And…and… _fuck. Fuck._ I'm sorry." He hung his head and dragged his fingers through his hair. 

Her anger rapidly dissolved, and in its place remained pity. He looked so confused and hurt; she could sympathise with him for she had felt similarly with his father. But she did not want to dwell on that. 

"Stop swearing. I don't want my customers to hear," she said, dropping her hand to her side. 

He looked up at her, his palms pressed against the back of his neck. "You're not upset?" 

She met his gaze coolly. "Don't do it again." 

His hands fell to his sides as he gazed at her. Quietly, he said, "I didn't mean to. But then, when I saw you, I remembered that evening, you…and him…" Her cheeks grew pink, he noticed. "…And I got so fu – dging… _irritated_. I couldn't believe he'd been the one to get you first –" 

Hermione's anger was reignited. So it had been a competition! And here she'd thought Lucius had been the only one in the game, when Draco had been playing as well! 

"So, all this time, you two have been _competing_ for me?" she interrupted. "Oh my God, I can't believe this!" 

Draco gave her a strange look. "That's not it. You know that." 

"No, I do not." She enunciated each word with a hard finish, her face stony with outrage. "I do not know nor wish to know the twisted inner workings of a Malfoy's mind. The both of you sicken me. I think it's time you leave, Draco." 

He did not move right away. He peered at her for a moment before a look of understanding graced his face. 

"He hasn't told you." He shook his head ostensibly in disbelief. "He hasn't told you, and yet you still… _wow_ , I really didn't have a chance, did I?" He shook his head again. 

"Told me what?" she demanded, curious despite her anger. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbled to himself, then, dragging his hand through his hair yet again, he spoke to her, "My father fancies you. And, honestly, I think you're dense not to have seen it yourself. I mean, Granger, he visits you _twice a week_." 

She released an indelicate snort of incredulity. "Don't be ridiculous! He only comes to buy books!" 

He quirked an eyebrow at her as he went round her desk. Pausing just in front the door, he said, 

"Oh, yeah? Then wouldn't you be so surprised to learn that of all the books he's purchased from you, he's yet to read any of them?" 

Hermione did not get the chance to respond because someone approached her desk to purchase a book, and by the time she'd finished the transaction, Draco had already left. 

* * *

She was late. 

Even though she'd closed shop early at 5.30, when she got home, she'd found herself obsessively tidying up her flat – especially her bedroom – for Legolas' impending visit. She wasted ten minutes worrying whether the fuchsia bed linens were too girlish or the ivory ones too plain, another fifteen in indecision as to whether she should straighten her hair or not, and another twenty pondering the advantages of wearing trousers and comfortable underwear versus a dress and an uncomfortable g-string. 

By the time she'd decided to leave her bed in its plain ivory sheets, straighten her hair partially to soften her curls, shower and dress, it was already 8.15. And now, standing just outside _Fran's_ , dressed nicely in a raspberry coloured dress and a g-string that threatened discomfort for the rest of the night, Hermione was forty minutes late for her date with Legolas. 

"Hello! Dining for one or for two?" greeted the headwaiter amiably. 

Hermione's eyes shifted around the semi-dark interior of the restaurant nervously. Per usual for a Friday night, it was filled with chatty, laughing guests, and trying to identify a familiar face would be challenging, let alone an unfamiliar one. It dawned on Hermione that she and Legolas should have agreed upon a distinguishing marker of some sort to find each other faster. She'd worn the diamond bracelet he'd sent her, though, but that would mean she'd have to position her right hand in noticeable places. Perhaps she might have to revisit her past self and wave it above her head like an overzealous student who knew the answer to every question the teacher asked… 

"Er…I'm waiting for someone, but he's probably already here," said Hermione. "Can I sit by the bar?" 

"Absolutely!" nodded the headwaiter. 

Hoisting herself up on the high barstool proved to be a bit tricky since her dress, a sexy, knee-length piece she'd bought for an astronomical price she refused to say out loud, was slim and restricted her legs, and the soles of her stilettos skidded on the smooth, wooden flooring. Still, she managed it, and feet dangling while perched on the cushiony seat of the stool, Hermione surveyed the length of the bar with rounded, anxious eyes. 

_I wonder if he's here…_

There were a few other occupants seated at the bar, and most were in a conversation with someone else. However, sitting at the very end by himself was a handsome brown-skinned man. Hermione eyed him hopefully, and when he glanced up at her, winked and smiled, she smiled back. Alas, she grew crestfallen when a woman with lovely auburn hair approached the man and drew him away from the bar. 

She looked at her watch. 8.57. 

What if he was an early bird, had arrived since minutes to eight, and believing she'd deserted him, had left? No, she didn't believe he was so impatient. After all, she'd only been thirty – ok, be honest, _forty_ – minutes late. In any case, he'd given her a description of what he thought she looked like once, and she'd confirmed it. Her curls may not be as wild today, but certainly – 

"Miss Granger?" 

Hermione turned her head sharply. Surprised, "Mr Malfoy…? What are you doing here?" 

Yes, really, what was a refined man like Lucius Malfoy doing in an ordinary restaurant like _Fran's_? He was dressed completely in Muggle clothing at that. No Wizarding robes, no fancy waistcoat, no serpent-headed cane, just a regular oxford blue dress-shirt, and trousers. The bruise around his left eye had completely disappeared, and Hermione wasn't sure which shocked her the most: his presence, or the fact that he'd obviously grown a lot more tolerant of Muggle ways. 

"I came to meet someone," he said. Then he eyed her hair, the bit of cleavage on show from the curved neckline of her dress, and her exposed calves, before meeting her gaze again. He was not smiling, but the glint in his eye suggested he was very appreciative of the view. Hermione did not want to ponder on how much this pleased her. 

Draco's words returned to her: _My father fancies you_ … 

_Rubbish. Absolute hogwash. The day Lucius Malfoy fancies me would be in an alternate universe where pigs smoked cigars, cats spoke with Russian accents, and walking outside naked was perfectly acceptable…_

"Quite a coincidence, then," she said. "I've come to meet someone as well." 

"Your lover?" He glanced at the bracelet on her wrist, and an unidentifiable look ghosted over his face. Biting her bottom lip, she gazed at him for a moment before looking towards the door in search of Legolas. Her eyes slid to meet his again. 

"Something like that." 

"Hmm. How nice." 

"Funny you should say that," she replied in cool tones. "Draco came by today." 

His features remained impassive. He said nothing. 

"He confirmed my suspicions about you," she continued. 

"And what were these suspicions?" 

Her bravery began to wither beneath his persistent stare. "That you weren't very serious about…" She cleared her throat. "…About me. You were just playing me for a fool. It was all just a competition between the two of you." 

For once, his impassivity broke. Frowning, "Draco said this?" 

"No, but the implication was there." She lifted her chin stubbornly. "And that's not all he said." 

He folded his arms. "Well, my son has been a busy gossipmonger today, hasn't he?" 

She ignored him. "He said that you _fancied_ me, and that you never read the books you buy at my bookshop." 

He did not speak at once, and Hermione watched him. But it was a futile attempt to ascertain his thoughts because Lucius Malfoy was exceptionally skilled at hiding his emotions. Marble statues and ceramic sculptures couldn't even compete. 

Insouciantly, he replied, 

"And do you believe this?" 

"No," she said quietly. "I don't believe it. You may be willing to…to…" here she fumbled to speak. "It's all fine and good if it's a few kisses or bit of a feel-up or even…a…err…quick sh-shag, but you'll never see me worthy enough to be your mate." 

He stepped closer, filling her nostrils with his divine scent of lemon and rosemary. She barely restrained herself from leaning into him. 

"Miss Granger, I am disappointed." 

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? Why?" 

A corner of his lips curved in the ghost of a smirk, he replied, "I am disappointed you think so lowly of yourself." 

She opened her mouth, could not find words, and closed it. 

He smirked fully now. "Good night, Miss Granger." 

Still in shock: "Good night, Mr Malfoy." 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

9.43pm. 

Legolas did not meet her. That _bastard_. 

_No, I shouldn't say that! He could've been in an accident, or maybe something important came up and he couldn't make it. Or, maybe, he had already come and my lateness led him to believe I had avoided him. There has to be an explanation for this. Has to be!_

Climbing off the stool was every bit as challenging as getting on, worsened by the g-string's sudden mission to grind deeper into her flesh. But once again she managed it without incident, and feeling greatly disappointed by Legolas' no-show, she waved goodbye to the barman with whom she'd struck up conversation during the wait and left _Fran's_. 

Standing just outside the restaurant, having just decided to walk home instead of Apparate, she heard the door open so she stepped to the side to allow the individual to pass. 

"Ah, we meet again." 

She turned and found Lucius Malfoy standing behind her. 

"You're still here? I thought you'd left." Then remembrance returned. "Oh, right. You were to meet someone. How did it go?" 

"Not as well as I'd expected," he replied, watching her. "As much as I'd hoped otherwise, our meeting was too soon. She was not ready." 

She ignored the irritation that had kindled when he'd said 'she,' and refused to dwell on who this 'she' may be. 

"Ready for what?" 

"To see me." 

"So she didn't show, then?" 

He gave her a strange look. "In a way, yes." 

"That is unfortunate," she commented. Then: "My date didn't show up either." 

"Yes, very unfortunate," he concurred. 

They fell silent. 

"Well, I'm off. I'm headed this way." She waved her hand in the general direction. "Have a good night, Mr Malfoy. It was nice –" 

"You'll be walking?" he interrupted, frowning. "At this hour? That is extraordinarily unwise, Miss Granger." 

She pursed her lips stubbornly. "It's a safe neighbourhood." 

His frown deepened. "I'm not sure whether you're being overly naïve or foolish. Neither of which are desirable traits, I must add." 

Her eyebrows knitted in impatience. "I think I'd know my own neighbourhood. Not to mention I'm perfectly capable of defending myself if need be. Unless you're so convinced I'm an idiotic damsel in distress in need of your wondrous and knightly protection?" 

"As a matter of fact, I am." He went round her then extended his hand. "Come. If you must walk, then I will walk with you." 

She eyed his hand, eyed him, and then eyed his hand again. He wanted her to hold his hand? In public? 

She opened her mouth to voice this, but he beat her to it. 

"Yes, Miss Granger. For the entire world to see. Now if you wouldn't mind…?" He made a beckoning motion with his fingers. 

As she relented and slid her fingers along his, the colour in her face rose, threatening to match that of her dress. He intertwined their fingers, his palm flat and warm against hers. 

They set off in the direction she'd pointed to earlier, their pace steady yet unhurried. _His hand is so much bigger than mine_ , she thought, highly conscious of his fingers resting between the gaps of her own, and the way his thumb occasionally smoothed over hers. Who knew holding hands could be this distracting or arousing? She could hardly concentrate on lifting her feet, let alone guide him along the right path to her flat. Her heart was beating so fast, it was as if she were running instead of walking. 

_My father fancies you…_

Could Draco be right? More than an hour ago, she'd been certain that that was utterly laughable shite. But now, Lucius was confusing her again. Here they went along the roads of Hogsmeade at minutes to ten like lovers on a near-midnight stroll… _holding hands_. Anyone could see them! What was worse, anyone they _knew_ could see them! And he didn't seem to care one iota. If someone they knew noticed, what would they think of this? No doubt stop and stare with heart-stopping, wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. Much the way she felt at present, really. 

But he hadn't denied it. When she'd related Draco's accusations, he'd only asked her what she believed. Was that a roundabout admission? Had he hoped to ascertain her feelings first on the matter before proclaiming his undying infatuation for her? Sort of doubtful, wasn't it? Although, in consideration, she did not believe Lucius Malfoy the type of man to voice his feelings. He was far too proud to advertise such vulnerability. And then there was that 'she' he'd mentioned earlier... 

She snuck a glance at him. He squeezed her hand. 

"You think too much." 

She looked up at him again. "How do you know I'm thinking?" 

"Here." 

She turned her gaze to stare ahead and discovered they were standing outside her building's front door. She was about to question how he knew where she lived when she remembered she'd brought him to her flat two months ago. Still, for him to have recalled the location so accurately was remarkable. 

He released her hand, and to compensate for the sudden lack of warmth, she clasped her hands together and lay them against her belly. 

Awkwardly, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy." 

"You're welcome, Miss Granger." 

"I guess you'll be Apparating home now...?" 

"Yes." 

Her inherent babbling kicked in. "Unless, you'd like to come up for tea? That is, if you want tea. I-I've got lots of tea. In my flat. Upstairs. I like tea. Do you like tea?" 

He looked amused. "Yes, I like tea." 

She laughed nervously. "Of course you like tea. That's such a silly question! Yes. Right. You can come upstairs for tea." 

Withdrawing her wand from where she'd stuck it in her hair both for safekeeping and to keep her hairdo intact, she spun around quickly and unlocked the front door. The building was a squat, square structure owned by a wizard who'd made his wealth opening a Wizarding robes factory. It consisted of two floors and four separate flats. Only two of the flats were occupied presently: one on the ground floor by a young man who worked for the Ministry, and the other on the first floor by Hermione. 

They walked up the short flight of stairs and along the even shorter hallway to Hermione's door. With each step, Hermione grew both terrified and excited with what she'd done. Bringing Lucius over two months ago had not been as scary because his visit had been justified; he'd been hurt, and she'd wanted to help him. But now? What was going to happen? 

_Nothing! We'll only be drinking tea._

But then, she'd invited Legolas over for tea after their dinner in her letter. And if she was being honest: drinking tea had been the furthest thing from her mind... 

She unlocked her flat, they went inside. They stood in the semi-dark foyer, the light from the kitchen penetrating the area just enough for them to see each other's faces. 

Her tongue glided along her bottom lip. He watched this avidly. 

Softly, "I'll go make the tea." 

"Yes." 

She didn't move. 

_Why is my heart beating so fast?_

"What kind of tea do you like?" 

"Peppermint." 

"Peppermint? I have peppermint." 

"Lovely." 

And still she did not move. 

She wanted to kiss him. Would it be so bad if she did? Just one little kiss? Kisses didn't have life-altering consequences! They didn't _really_ change the dynamics of a relationship! Kisses were harmless; easily forgotten! Although, Lucius Malfoy's kisses were particularly unforgettable. But, whatever. It wouldn't hurt to give him a quick snog then move on to make the tea. 

In the gloom, his eyes looked charcoal, and he seemed bigger, towering over her easily. He made no move towards her, and Hermione suspected he did this on purpose. He was waiting for her to initiate contact. Could she be so brazen? All this time, Lucius had been the one to kiss her first, usually by way of overpowering her. She couldn't dream to use his methods – force him up against her wall, pin his hands and snog him senseless. Though, that did not sound like such an awful idea... 

She just had to be brave. Be forward. No fear, no misgivings. Just take what she wanted. Could she do it? 

She stepped forwards, standing in his personal space now. He remained still. 

_It's just a kiss, nothing more._

Her hands reached up and looped around his neck, her front pressed against his. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze directly. He looked simultaneously amused and curious, as if he knew how much willpower it had taken her to get this far, and to see how much further she was willing to go. He didn't help her whatsoever. Just stood there, stock still, awaiting her next move. 

"You're an evil git, you know, making me do all this work," she said into the silence. 

He could no longer resist the smirk. "I don't recall asking you to do it." 

"So you don't want me to kiss you, then?" 

"Quite the opposite." 

"Just one kiss, then I make the tea, and then you leave." 

"Of course." 

"I've banned you from my bookshop by the way." 

"Yes, I saw your sign. So very tasteless." 

"I shouldn't be kissing you." 

"Perhaps. But you've not even begun." 

She bit her bottom lip coyly. "Why won't you kiss me, Mr Malfoy?" 

"Because I'd like you to kiss me first, Miss Granger." 

"Fine." 

And she reached up further and pressed her lips against his. 

He suddenly came to life, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, squeezing her to him. He did not dominate; instead he allowed her to lead the way, and soon, Hermione's chaste, close-mouthed kiss became hungrier. At her insistence, he opened his mouth, and their kiss deepened, became heated. It was no longer just a simple kiss. It became the impetus for their desire, rapidly pushing them forwards to what they'd both secretly longed for all this time, but from which they had abstained. 

All thoughts of tea forgotten, their hands quested along and gripped at each other with relentless fervency. Hermione's fingers were either sifting through his hair, or bunched in the material of his shirt. She strained against him, as if somehow certain that he was not close enough. She moved her legs against his, lifted a leg slightly to curve around his calf, but the clingy material of the dress restricted her. 

But that was rectified when Lucius' hands went down to her thighs and grabbed the material to hike up the skirt of her dress. Their kiss broke when he lifted her up, and she toed off her shoes and wrapped her legs around his hips. With one hand supporting her weight, he shoved her up against the nearest wall, his lips already at work on her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, while his other hand smoothed up and down her exposed thigh. 

Their movements never slowed, never wavered. As soon as he'd pushed her against the wall, he was pulling her away from it, walking her forwards. Exhilaration and fear and desire combined forces and filled her with its heady mixture. Her heart beat too fast, her breathing was too shallow, the sensible section of her brain screamed bloody murder about how she really ought to nip this in the bud. 

And yet, she did not stop him. When he carried her into her darkened living room and sat in her sofa, she did not move away. She only realigned her body to press more intimately against him; the flimsy material of her underwear and the cloth of his trousers hardly a barrier between them. His hand grabbed the zip at the back of her dress and pulled it down; her fingers outdid themselves unbuttoning his shirt. 

_My, how things have changed._

Indeed, and so swiftly to boot. Why did Lucius Malfoy have this effect on her? How could she so easily set fire to caution and reason without a second thought? How had a chaste kiss turned into this? She was about to have sex with Lucius Malfoy on her living room sofa regardless that she had feelings for Legolas, and that she knew Lucius was with someone else. And did she care? Did she give even the teeniest bit of damn about it? No. Not really. 

He was kissing her again, even as his hands smoothed the short sleeves of her dress down her arms. Task complete, his mouth descended past her chin to her neck as his fingers unhooked the clasp of her bra at her back. And there was no time to be coy, no moment to blush prettily and cover herself, for as soon as the bra was thrown in some unseen direction, and her breasts were free, his mouth was on them, around them, sucking and licking…feasting on her unashamedly. 

"Yes," she gasped aloud for the first time. Her own voice sounded strange to her ears. "Oh, god, _yes…"_

Eyes closed, she gripped the back of his head, holding him against her, arching her back and grinding her hips. His mouth warm and wet, his teeth biting, scraping, and his tongue flicking her nipples mercilessly. She moaned his name, and moaned it even louder when he worked his hand between her legs and touched her. An insistent digit, his thumb, stroking her through the material of her underwear, parting her, pressing and circling her clit, the rough material scraping exquisitely against her flesh. 

Merlin, she was going to come soon. And she would come hard, too, because the idea, the very fact that it was Lucius Malfoy, this wicked, evil, _wrong_ man, doing these things to her was so incredibly alluring. Every single nerve ending and every single hair on her body wanted this man, and the knowledge that she could have him, would have him, simultaneously scared and thrilled her. 

Emboldened, she pushed his hand away, reached for his belt and undid it. She unclasped the stay, unzipped the zip, reached for him, gripped him, pulled him free. He groaned against her breast, and when she experimentally pumped him, he released her breast on another groan, lifted his head and kissed her neck. 

"Gods, witch, I want to be in you," he said, his voice gravelly and his breath hot. 

And she wanted that, too. More than anything. She whispered this against his lips before she kissed him sweetly, lazily, savouring the taste of his mouth even as she moved over him, on him, pushing her underwear to the side and guiding him into her. And sweet, sweet Merlin he felt _good_. So good, she whimpered into his mouth and blinked back tears of pleasure, for she realised that she'd never known completion, she'd never felt such total fullness until tonight. 

Almost inaudibly, his eyes closed, he whispered, " _Yes_ , _yes,_ how long I've waited to have you, my love. So long…too long…" 

Their pace was languid at first. She lifted herself all the way up, then sank slowly, torturously down upon him again. She was in control. She dictated their pleasure. Her hands gripping his shoulders, his arms smoothing along her waist, they ground against each other with a natural ease of two lovers who'd known each other for years. 

When they both could no longer restrain themselves, could no longer delay the urgency building within them, Lucius bent her forwards against him, grabbed her arse and began driving himself upwards, thrusting up into her with merciless persistence. This was no longer lovemaking. Lucius Malfoy held her still and fucked her. Fucked her hard and fast until she came, trembling, clinging to his shoulders, moaning, and crying his name. 

And even as the last of the fluttering of her walls died away, he kept moving. Soon, his thrusts became more frenzied, less precise. His breathing deepened, fanning hot against her neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck,"_ he chanted just before he climaxed, groaning long and low, his eyes squeezed shut. And it delighted Hermione to no end that she was the cause of Lucius' unusually dirty mouth. 

They stayed where they were for quite some time. And even after their breathing and heartbeat had regulated, Hermione remained pressed against his chest, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his neck. They were both hot and sweaty, but neither felt inclined to move. Even when he slipped, flaccid, from her and his ejaculate splattered onto his trousers, they still did not move. 

Hermione waited for the ensuing guilt or shame concerning what she'd just done, but none of these emotions were forthcoming. Perhaps they were delayed. Perhaps in the morning when the light of day and reason came shining through her bedroom windows, she'll arise with the appropriate feelings, properly horrified as she ought to be that she'd slept with Lucius Malfoy. 

"The woman you were supposed to meet tonight," she said quietly, her breath disturbing the fine hairs at his neck. "Is she important to you?" 

He did not speak right away, but when he did, he replied, 

"Yes, very important. But she does not seem to know this as yet." 

When he said this, something began poking at her brain. Like a memory, or a… _feeling_ or an intuition. Like she ought to know something. But what? What could it be? She couldn't really think straight, anyway. The events of the day had tired her out, and Lucius' warmth was making her sleepy. 

"Perhaps she's daft," she commented, eyes drifting shut. 

"Perhaps." 

Sleepily, "You're not a very nice man, Mr Malfoy." 

"And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger." 

She yawned, drunk with sleep now. "And it's so very ironic that I should fancy a man like you." 

If she'd been fully conscious, she might have noticed the triumphant tone in his voice. 

"Well, life is filled with incredible ironies, my dear. It is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment." 

Hermione believed she'd heard that saying somewhere before, but she could not remember from where. Halfway off to sleep, she concluded that she'd probably read it in a book, and that Lucius Malfoy had read the same book as well. Mere seconds after, she drifted off to sleep. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she found herself in her bed, tucked comfortably beneath her sheets. Upon rising and swinging her legs off the bed, she further discovered herself wearing one of her yellow t-shirts and a pair of light-yellow cotton knickers. The knickers – moreover, the fact that she was _wearing_ underwear – was the trigger for the memories of the night prior. 

A reel of images scrolled across her mind's eye. She saw herself at _Fran's_ waiting for Legolas; herself retelling him what Draco had said; holding hands with Lucius on their walk to her flat; her legs wrapped around Lucius' hips as they kissed feverishly against her wall, her sitting on Lucius' lap, her dress down and around her hips, her head thrown back with abandon as she rode his… 

Hermione bowed her head and covered her face with her palms. The age old mixture of shock and horror upon realising the mistake of what one had done and with who one had done it – especially one-night stands – coursed through her. Gods above, below, and somewhere in the middle – _she'd had sex with Lucius Malfoy._

The shock and horror petered out into hilarity. She'd had sex with Lucius Malfoy! Her hands fell away from her face, and she threw head back and laughed and laughed. Yes, she'd done it and damn if it hadn't been _effing fantastic!_ As a matter of fact, if given the opportunity for a second go round, she'd jump on it (and on _him_ ) so fast, it'll seem like she'd ambushed him into sex. 

Her laughing dissolved on an indelicate snort of incredulity. What was worse, he'd obviously taken the time to clean her up, put new clothing on her, and tucked her into bed. He hadn't needed to bother. He could've left her there half naked on her sofa, his semen drying between her legs, her expensive dress crumpled around her hips. But he had not. How considerate of him. And to think she'd told him he wasn't nice… 

_You're not a very nice man, Mr Malfoy._

_And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger._

_And it's so very ironic that I should fancy a man like you…_

The shock and horror returned tenfold. _Oh God_. She'd said that, hadn't she? Told Lucius Malfoy that she liked him, and in _that_ way. She'd been so sleepy she'd not been able to properly filter her words. Times like these an illegal time-turner came in handy. In the events of inanity (which were frequent where Lucius Malfoy was considered), all she had to do was spell herself back to the awful moment and physically slap some sense into her past self. 

Hermione exhaled heavily. Now what was she going to do about this? How was she to handle the inevitable moment when she would face Lucius Malfoy again? Would they pretend as if nothing had happened or should they talk about it? Was it a one-off for him? For her? Just a quick something for them to get some much needed release? Or was this the impetus for something a lot more serious? A long-term relationship? Did he want that? Did _she_ want that? 

_Yes_ , her subconscious answered. 

_No_ , Sensible Voice denied. 

_You like him. Draco said he likes you. What's the problem?_

_You don't like him. You like Legolas._

Ugh. Legolas. That bastard. This confusion currently roiling through her was his fault! Had he arrived at their agreed upon time, she'd not have encountered Lucius, thereby not having sex with that blasted man. As a matter of fact, instead of waking up to an empty bed, her heart filled with doubt and confusion, Legolas – having already revealed himself to be superbly handsome and fabulous in sex – should have been occupying the other half of her bed, fully awake, and enquiring what she'd like to have for breakfast so he could make it and bring it to her while she relaxed. 

_I was late_ , she reminded herself. _I could very well be at fault for our botched date_. 

Whether or not that was true would be clarified when she sent him a letter – which she was going to do right this minute. After that, she was going to make herself the strongest cup of coffee ever existed, shower, head off to her bookshop, and try her damnedest to forget about Lucius Malfoy. 

* * *

The weekend went by and so did the following week, and during that time, Hermione had not heard from Legolas, and she'd failed spectacularly in her mission to forget about Lucius Malfoy. Truth be told, _all_ she could think about was Lucius Malfoy! 

She'd not seen or heard from him since their last encounter Friday night, and though she pretended that his sudden silence did not affect her, it really did. 

_Has he used me?_ She often thought with mixed feelings of anger and dejection. _Has he already moved on to what's-her-face who'd stood him up the other night?_

_Absolutely,_ a voice sounding suspiciously like Sensible Voice usually agreed in snooty and gleeful tones. _You're silly to have believed he'd care two Sickles for you. All he wanted was a bit of an appetizer to tide him off until he got the main course – which isn't you by the way._

She often refuted this logic with the desperate argument that she'd not intended to get seriously involved with him, anyway. They were two consenting adults who had found each other attractive and had acted on that attraction. There was no law that stated that sex should invariably lead to a relationship. This wasn't the days of old where Lucius would be bound to marry her upon 'defiling her virtue.' Neither of them had made any promises to the other. 

As a matter of fact when examined closely, _she_ had been the one to initiate intercourse when she'd kissed him in her foyer. What if Lucius was in his manor twiddling his thumbs in anxiety, awaiting some form of contact from her, and growing agitated by her continued silence? Wouldn't that be the height of irony? 

Hermione began to consider the idea of sending Lucius a letter, but she squirmed at the notion that she might come across desperate or needy. Still, something had to be done. They needed to talk about what had happened, especially after what she'd said before falling to sleep. She may have enjoyed hiding, and avoiding and ignoring the events of Friday night but that was immaturity at its finest. They were adults, and so, ought to handle such a situation in kind. 

So, that Monday evening, Hermione went home determined to owl Lucius Malfoy. After making herself a cup of tea, she went and sat at her desk. She dawdled, rearranging her quills and ink bottles, sweeping away non-existent debris from the desk's surface, standing to open the window nearby before reseating herself, then standing again to close the window when the autumn breeze blew too cold. 

Finally, she firmed her resolve to get it done, and opened one of the drawers in search for new parchment. She did not find any; apparently, she'd run out. _Bugger_. If she'd known, she'd have purchased a few new scrolls before coming home. She searched around her flat, and when she was still not able to find clean parchment, she eventually returned to her desk. 

_I'll just have to erase the words off another parchment_ , she thought. 

She retrieved a stack of parchment from one of the drawers and began to sift through them, looking for one that did not carry pertinent information. The first few were her Gringotts banking information, the ones beneath her business licence and tax information, and the others at the bottom a few of Legolas' past letters. From the letters' dates, she gathered they were some of the first that Legolas had sent her. 

_An impressive pseudonym. Perchance you are a Greek mythology enthusiast as myself? … The last book I've read? That will be Alfred Bercarius' Potions and Poultices, and yes, I did enjoy it. … Rather, I'm an…opportunist. … However, there is one wish I've nursed for the past few months. … But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment._

Hermione had been glancing through the paragraphs, not quite reading each line, but now she stopped. The final line in one of Legolas' letters gripped her attention. 

_But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment…_

Her forehead creased, a quizzical expression on her face. She'd heard that line before. Somewhere…someone had said it. Where? Who? Had she read it in a book? No. That wasn't it. She swore someone had spoken it aloud, had told it to her at some point in time; recently, too. Had it been Harry? Ron? _Ginny_? That didn't sound like any them, though. That line was filled with far too much cynicism, and – 

_Lucius. Lucius said it._

Remembrance returned to her in short spurts and trickles. That night…Friday night, after they'd had….after they'd finished, she'd been so tired, so sleepy. And she'd asked him…she'd asked him about the woman he was seeing, and then had told him he wasn't nice. And he'd replied, 'And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger.' Yes. She remembered him saying that because, like a numpty, she'd confessed that she fancied him afterwards. She'd told him how she thought it ironic. Their situation ironic. And he'd said… _Lucius Malfoy_ _had said those same words_ with the exception of her name, Athena. 

_Well, life is filled with incredible ironies. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment._

What are the odds of Lucius Malfoy and Legolas sharing the same words? They were two very different men. Had they read the same book where this particular saying was featured? Was it a Wizarding slang she'd not been aware of all this time? Lucius Malfoy wouldn't use slang, would he? Neither would Legolas, to tell the truth. They both spoke so formally. They both had this air of coming from a privileged, refined life. They were both wealthy men. They both... 

… _had been married…_

… _had a son…_

… _were opportunists…_

… _had an interest in Potions…_

… _were confessed Pureblood elitists…_

To Hermione's rapidly mounting horror, more and more similarities between Legolas and Lucius Malfoy began to manifest themselves. Before she'd got Legolas' first letter, Lucius Malfoy had requested that same book – Alfred Bercarius' _Potions and Poultices –_ and look, there, in Legolas' letter in response to her question as to the most recent book he'd read, Legolas had answered: Alfred Bercarius' _Potions and Poultices_! 

Hermione reread each letter a bit more carefully now, on the verge of hyperventilating. 

… _I feel, inexplicably, that I must apologise for that boy's behaviour. I suppose I'm suffering from second-hand embarrassment for the boy. Or, perhaps it is that I see a bit of myself in him…_

His reply to her tale about Draco's verbal abuse during Hogwarts. Surely Lucius Malfoy's roundabout way of apology! 

… _Regrettably, I've not made any potions worthy of even the tiniest mention in the Daily Prophet, let alone any known potioneer journal. Though, that honour would have been swiftly attained by a dear friend of mine. A brilliant man. But he is dead now. The anniversary of his death draws near…_

This letter was dated at the middle of April. The anniversary of the War had been a few weeks away. The only 'brilliant' Potions master she knew who'd perished in the War around that time was…Severus Snape – a friend of Lucius Malfoy! 

… _If ever I've cherished a gift, it is the one you've recently sent me. Fidelus Melkin's Potioneer's Extraordinaire Kit…_

She'd sent Legolas that Potions Kit, and mere days later, Lucius Malfoy had waltzed into her bookshop, requesting she order him the kit's encyclopaedia. If she remembered correctly, the kit she'd sent Legolas had not included the encyclopaedia, and the encyclopaedia was worthless without the kit… 

… _I_ was _a Pureblood supremacist who despised – no, not despised, misunderstood – all things Muggle. I didn't (and still don't) hate Muggles, I just did not understand or respect their culture. … And my distaste for Muggles kept on growing until I met one remarkable Muggleborn. A powerful being. A selfless, beautiful, honourable soul … I yearn to show this person how much I've changed, but I am unsure if they will ever give me that opportunity. I can only hope…_

Oh, sweet Merlin, he'd been talking about her, hadn't he? How could she not have seen this? 

Digging frantically through the drawers, Hermione unearthed the other remaining letters from Legolas, and in almost every one, there was some telltale titbit that referenced Lucius Malfoy in some way. She reread Legolas' accurate description of her features. She remembered how he'd purchased her favourite chocolates for her. She recalled the bracelet he'd sent her and the unidentifiable look that had passed over Lucius' face when he'd saw her wearing it that night for her date with Legolas…with _him_. 

_I've come to meet someone..._

_As much as I'd hoped otherwise, our meeting was too soon. She was not ready._

_Ready for what?_

_To see me._

_So, she didn't show, then?_

_In a way, yes…_

_The woman you were supposed to meet tonight – is she important to you?_

_Yes, very important. But she does not seem to know this as yet…_

_You're not a very nice man, Mr Malfoy._

_And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger._

_And it's so very ironic that I should fancy a man like you._

_Well, life is filled with incredible ironies, my dear. It is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment…_

Lucius Malfoy was… 

Hermione's hand dropped lifelessly at her sides, the letters drifting from her hands onto the floor. Her head fell backwards and her mouth fell open in unadulterated astonishment. She stared up at her ceiling, not quite seeing the speckled white surface. Her breathing came deep, as if she'd been recently submerged beneath water beyond what her oxygen capacity allowed. She wanted to scream; she struggled not to. 

Lucius Malfoy was… 

Tolkien's Legolas was an elf. An elf with fair hair like Lucius Malfoy's. Tall and of a noble bloodline. Just like Lucius Malfoy. 

_Lucius Malfoy was…_

Lucius Malfoy, that wicked, awful, deceptive man was the same sweet, gentle, caring soul named Legolas. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

As per Elisabeth Kübler-Ross' theory, there were five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It was often used in relation to death or dying. The symptoms a loved one presumed to exhibit following the untimely passing of a loved one, or of an individual not ready to face their own mortality. 

No-one dear to Hermione had died recently. Though she couldn't say the same for her ignorance and a bit of her pride that she'd been so _thick_. 

In any case, she'd gone about the whole 'five stages of grief' all wrong. So far, as she stood in front of Malfoy Manor's drawing room fireplace, all she'd experienced was denial, acceptance, and anger. 

At first she had denied the similarities. She'd tried to rationalise with herself that perhaps it was all an amazing, unbelievable coincidence. Perhaps he'd been in the dark as well. Perhaps he had not known she was Athena just as she'd not known he was Legolas. Perhaps he would be just as surprised as she upon discovering her identity. But albeit Hermione knew she was a master at denial, the evidence was far too prominent to be refutable. Although she'd often thought the same for herself but had been proven otherwise recently, Lucius Malfoy was no dummy. He had to have known. He'd left far too many hints. And since he'd known, yet had refused to bring her up to speed, there was some purpose behind it, and it was most definitely devious. 

So, acceptance came, followed swiftly by anger. She did not know what she was going to do, but damn it all she was going to do _something_. She was not going to sit idly by, twiddling her thumbs for Lucius' next move. 

She glared around the huge room. Without properly thinking things through, Hermione had Floo-ed herself to Malfoy Manor uninvited. She'd not stopped to question whether she would be bounced back to her flat, the manor's fireplace prohibiting her unexpected appearance. 

The last time she'd been in this place and in this same room, she'd suffered pain unimaginable under Bellatrix Lestrange's hand. She couldn't remember exactly how it had looked in the past, but she felt as if the room had undergone a positive transformation. Nevertheless, she was on a mission now, and she was not to be distracted by those awful memories. Her mission was to find Lucius Malfoy, and from the looks of the empty room, he was not here. She would have to go hunting for him. 

There were two doors in the drawing room. One on the northern wall, and the other on the eastern wall to her right. Marching brazenly through the drawing room, Hermione headed towards the door on her right. It opened onto the large entranceway. To the left curled the wide staircase to the second floor, and directly ahead were the main doors to the manor. She returned to the drawing room, and had intended to use the door on the north wall, when she heard a sound – like the thump of something falling to the floor – near the fire place. 

She glanced in that direction, and it was then she noticed a third door; dark brown and unobtrusive. It would most likely lead to a library or a den of some sort. Lucius or somebody who knew where he was would be in there. 

So, with quick, angry strides, Hermione went to the door, grabbed hold of the knob, spun it, and pushed the door inward. Its frame knocked hard against the side of a nearby bookshelf with the force of her push. Her wand gripped in her right hand, she stomped into the room. 

Lucius was standing in front of one of his six bookshelves, his upper half twisted partially to face the door. He was holding a book in a red leather casing aloft with the intention to return it to its spot on the bookshelf, and his eyebrows were lifted and his mouth parted in surprise. 

"Miss Granger?" he began, sounding as startled as he looked. "How did you –" 

"Hello, _Legolas_ ," she greeted with a sneer. 

If Hermione wasn't so angry, she might have appreciated how quickly Lucius could drain his face of all expression. The familiar impassive mask returned, and any remaining doubts that she'd been wrong, that Lucius Malfoy could never be Legolas evaporated. 

She inhaled as if she'd not done so in years, and if it were possible, she got even more furious. 

"So, it's true, then?" she demanded. "You're Legolas?" 

He looked away from her, placed the red leather book in its spot, and then turned to face her fully. 

"You don't seem pleased with this prospect," he answered. 

Her sneer fell away and a scowl took its place. "What do you think, Mr Malfoy? Tell me how you'd like it if you found out that all along someone was purposely trying to fool you into thinking they were someone they were not, and that they'd actually succeeded?" 

His expressionless mask weakened and revealed a bit of uncertainty. 

Quietly, "I had no intention to fool you, Hermione." 

She gripped her wand even tighter, and her scowl deepened. 

"Is that right?" she said in gentle tones that belied her rage. "Well, on my side of the fence it looks a lot like that was your very intention, _Lucius_." 

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. 

"I mean," she continued, voice still deceptively soft, "we aren't strangers. No, we've already seen to _that_ over a week ago, haven't we? So if your intentions had been honest, why not tell me who you were? Why hide behind a fake name and fake characteristics?" 

"I wanted –" he began. 

"– to keep me ignorant?" she supplied in steely tones, softness gone now. "That's a given. But I'm still wondering why? Perhaps a game? A bit bored with your life? Needed some entertainment, so you thought, 'I should have a go at that stupid Granger twit. Pretend I fancy her for a bit. Maybe even set Draco up to it too.'?" 

His eyes had darkened, his mouth had thinned, and one side of his jaw kept ticking as if he was grinding down intermittently on his teeth. She didn't really care. He was probably angry she'd found out his true motive. She'd been grasping at straws but his reaction was proof that her guesses were right. The evil sodding _git_. 

"I thought you were intelligent," he said coldly. "In actuality, you are abysmally dim-witted. Or blind. One or both of the two." 

"I agree," she retorted. "I was too stupid to have trusted you, and too blind to have seen you for what you really are: a manipulative, deceitful bastard!" 

He stepped towards her swiftly, and, per usual, she skittered backwards. But it was in vain for his hands reached out and pulled her to him, and though she struggled, she could not wriggle away fast enough. And she hated it how easily he surpassed her in strength; hated the way he could restrain her hands as though they were that of a child's; hated the way he could immobilise her head with a single hand; hated it how even though half of her still fought to get away from him, the other half relished the heat and the firmness of his body against hers, his mouth against hers as he kissed her. 

She did not like this, and yet she did. 

She did not want this, and yet she did. 

If confusion were personified, it would be Lucius Malfoy. 

His kiss was hardly refined. It was rough and forceful, as if he wanted to punish her, shut her up and teach her a lesson. His teeth scraped against her lips and his tongue fought and dominated hers. Her eyes closed in shame as she became pliant and willing against him. She did not fight back. She gave and he took. 

_Gods_ . It was ridiculous how easily Lucius could affect her this way. She left like a traitor to herself, because even though she was still angry – so very furious – desire for him bloomed hot in the pit of her belly, and if he bent her onto his desk or dragged her to the floor and took her, she'd let him, she'd let him with an eagerness that would be stunning to behold. 

_No!_ screamed a voice in her head, and its persistence gave her the extra strength to wrench away from him. 

" _No!_ " she said aloud, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing hard through her nostrils. 

"Why must it be so difficult?" he asked sounding defeated. And Hermione was not sure which terrified her most: the quality of his voice or the rare display of raw emotion on Lucius' face. "What else must I do to prove myself worthy, Hermione?" 

Her eyes met his. She read enough. Read too much. Understanding dawned, and it was far too scary for her to accept. Believing it had all been a game or a lie was simpler, nicer even. Ignorance was bliss and denial even sweeter. 

_This is too much. I need to think._

She thought she'd said it out loud, but she didn't stop to ascertain whether she did. Before she knew it, she was by the fireplace again, flinging Floo powder into the fire desperately; she was doing what she did best: running away. 

* * *

A week went by, then two, then four. Autumn left, winter came. Business carried on. And Hermione, try as she might, still could not forget. 

_Why must it be so difficult? What else must I do to prove myself worthy?_

His face that night still remained lucid in her memories. That moment when comprehension had alighted and shown her how truly idiotic and blind she'd been all this time. This realisation had so frightened her, she'd fled. 

"That was a shitty thing to do," scolded Ginny when Hermione related everything during a Sunday afternoon lunch. Ginny had returned from Italy and was on a week's holiday from work. "Though I'm not all for the exchanging of the 'I love yous' and whatnot, you could have at least told him how you felt instead of running away." 

"I suppose," mumbled Hermione miserably, pushing round the carrots on her plate with her fork. 

"But, wow, Lucius as Legolas, eh? I suppose it's not really surprising. No wonder he kept coming round. Nobody loves books that much. Well…except you. I guess you two are quite the match." 

"But it's _Lucius Malfoy_ ," Hermione whinged. "He's evil and conniving and…and dangerous!" 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And yet you slept with him." 

Hermione spluttered in an effort to retort but could not find the words. They remained quiet for a moment until Hermione eventually said, "He's twice my age, though. I'm old enough to be his daughter." 

"True, but he doesn't look it," replied Ginny, and she smirked. "And you would know since you've seen _everything_ already." 

Hermione blushed and returned to playing with her food. Then, her voice small and uncertain, she said: "But, Ginny, what will everyone think? He's…he used to work for Voldemort. He's done awful things. What if he hasn't changed?" 

Her voice uncharacteristically gentle, Ginny replied, "Hermione, don't give a rat's arse what people think, alright? It's your life so live it damn well how you please so long as you're not purposely hurting anyone. It's probably strange hearing this from me considering my past with him, but I believe he's changed. I also believe he's serious about you. I know you've realised it too, but you're just being stubborn." 

Indignant, "I'm _not_ –" 

"Point proven." Ginny smirked. 

Hermione frowned at her. "What makes you think that, anyway?" 

Ginny released an exasperated sigh. "Hermione, the man has been going out of his way to see you at least twice, sometimes thrice a week for the past year. He knew you weren't his greatest fan, so he adopted a different name and tried to get you to like him. For several months, he's allowed himself to be only your friend when it's obvious he wanted more than that. He's bought you a bunch of gifts including your favourite sweets, and even a diamond bracelet. Most importantly, on more than one occasion he's actually admitted his feelings for you. Is that clear enough now, oh Not So Wise One?" 

Her frown deepened. "How did you –" 

"I read the letters when you were sleeping…" 

"Ginny! Those were _private_!" 

"Oops, sorry," said Ginny, not sounding sorry at all. "When you've lived with a houseful of people like I have, the word 'private' means as much as cow dung, darling. Anyway, stop being selfish. I've been dying to tell you about who I met yesterday – Draco! And could you believe he asked me out? We make a pair, don't we? You get the daddy and I get the son…" 

Was Ginny right? Hermione asked herself later that evening as she sat at her desk rereading one of Legolas' – no _Lucius'_ – letters. Was she being too stubborn to see how much Lucius Malfoy had changed? 

_I yearn to show this person how much I've changed, but I am unsure if they will ever give me that opportunity. I can only hope._

He'd apologised, begged her forgiveness, and had pleaded with her to give him a chance. This prideful, powerful man had became vulnerable before her in an attempt to win her affections. And in all honesty, he had succeeded. Despite knowing who he used to be, she'd found herself attracted to him, liking him, wanting him, wanting to be with him. She had worried he had not felt the same, and when he'd revealed that he did, she'd grown terrified of the prospect. 

What was it like being with a man like Lucius Malfoy? 

_Challenging, yet still so exhilarating it would be worth it._

_But can it work?_

At least she ought to give it a try. Give _them_ a try. Who knew where this road would lead them? In one of her letters to 'Legolas,' she'd said, "We each could have been matched with someone else. Fate intervened. Fate knew that we'd be the perfect fit for each other." Nearly a year ago, she was so lonely she'd been driven to sign up for a penfriend service. Nearly a year ago, Lucius Malfoy had signed up for this very same service as well. They each could have met somebody else. Yet, somehow, they'd found each other. 

Hermione reached for blank parchment, quill and a bottle of ink. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously, unsure of what to write. Eventually, words came to her. 

_Legolas,_

_Do you like fairytales? Ever since I've known myself, I've always loved fairytales – the ones with the happy endings, of course. I never really cared about the ones where the 'maiden wins her prince' type of tales. I suppose they were, nice, yes, but I've always enjoyed the ones where justice prevailed. 'The Three Little Pigs,' for instance, or 'Little Red Riding Hood,' or 'Hansel and Gretel.' Those are all Muggle fairytales, by the way. I'm not sure if you've ever read them. If not, perhaps I can tell them to you someday. In any case, I've got a fairytale I'd like to share with you now. The ending's ambiguous, though. Would you like to hear it?_

_-Athena_

* * *

Two hours later: 

_Athena,_

_I've never had patience for children's stories. They've unrealistic endings and usually contain far too preachy and moralistic a tone for my liking. Perhaps I had more appreciation for them in my youth. Nevertheless, I am interested in this story of yours, ambiguous ending or not._

_-Legolas_

* * *

_Legolas,_

_Fear not, my dearest elf. This tale is the epitome of authenticity, and is hardly preachy or moralistic. I believe you've heard it before. It should, however, end on a happy note. At least I hope so. I'll give you the 'abridged' version._

_OK, here I go:_

_Once upon a time, there was a young woman named – well, her name's not very important. This young woman was lonely so she went in search of a friend (whose name is also unnecessary at the moment). Soon enough, she found a nice man – an amazing bloke, really – and so their friendship begun. They only exchanged letters. They never met. And their friendship grew and grew until, one day, they were no longer friends, but long-distance lovers (well, if one judged by the shockingly lewd missives the 'nice' man sent the young woman…)._

_Unfortunately, Nice Man was not the only bloke the young woman loved. The young woman found herself attracted to another bloke – Not Nice Man. He was wicked and evil and probably kicked kittens and ate children while laughing a very wicked and evil laugh – or so the young woman liked to believe – yet, despite harbouring these ludicrous ideas, the young woman still fancied Not Nice Man._

" _Absolutely wicked, he is!" judged the young woman often whenever she fantasised about Not Nice Man and wanted to dispel all notions that she, indeed, fancied him to a shameful degree. "Why, he could never be like Nice Man! Nice Man is so nice! Not Nice Man is not nice at all!"_

_Now, the young woman was not very smart – even though she was top of her class every year during her schooling – and rather blind because, wouldn't you know – Nice Man and Not Nice Man were both one and the same! And although Nice/Not Nice Man frequently tried his level best to show her this truth, the young woman still could not see it._

" _Perhaps she's a bit daft?" aptly described the young woman to Nice/Not Nice Man one night, unaware that she was, indeed, talking about herself._

_Then, one evening while rereading one of Nice/Not Nice Man's letters, she discovered the truth and went barging into his home in misplaced righteous indignation. She accused him of lying to her, called him a manipulative bastard, refused to hear his side of the story – such a lovely individual, isn't she? – and stormed off without a backwards glance._

_Upon reflection, the young woman regretted what she'd done. She realised her behaviour had been unnecessarily melodramatic and rude. She had to apologise. She had to tell Not Nice Man the real reason why she'd been so silly. That the idea, the fact that despite her prior judgments and beliefs, he was not wicked and evil. That he was a good man - perfect for her, really. That, all along, he'd been worthy._

_That's as far as I've got, Legolas, and as I've mentioned earlier, I like my fairytales to end happily. But there's something missing, isn't there?_

_-Athena_

"Yes, I agree," said Lucius as he stepped out of her fireplace an hour later, startling Hermione. She was sitting on the floor sipping tea, her back against the edge of her sofa's seat. "You mentioned the young woman needed to apologise, but she has not done so as yet." 

"It's late. My Floo channel could have been closed," she said, staring up at him. 

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. "Likewise mine, but that had not stopped you." 

Her hands shook as she settled her cup of tea on the coffee table. She rose to her feet, fighting the urge to wring her hands awkwardly. The silence between them was tense and heavy, as if sound – or the lack of it – had gained tangibility and was now making its presence felt. 

"Did you know all along?" she asked softly. 

He removed his hands from his pockets and advanced slowly towards her. "No, I did not. I grew suspicious when you first mentioned Draco, and when I saw the name 'Athena' on the box of sweets you'd received, my suspicions cemented. Your following letters further confirmed your identity." 

Ah, so he _had_ seen the name even though she'd tried to hide it. 

She smiled shyly. "And here I'd thought you'd plotted this elaborate scheme to get me. You know, created _WizFriend_ and rigged our meeting..." 

He was standing closer now, and he looked amused. "I'm uncertain whether I should be pleased or insulted you consider me capable of being so devious." 

"You are very capable, Lucius," she said. "There's always an ulterior motive with you." 

"Perhaps," he replied, curving his hand around her back and pulling her gently towards him. "But I'd like to think this time it was all for a good cause." Then, "You still have not apologised. Do I have to pry it from you?" 

Hermione pursed her mouth. "Do I have to say it? Better to be implicit than explicit, wouldn't you say?" 

A mischievous look usurped his amused one as he bent his head to kiss her neck. She closed her eyes and inclined her head to give him better access as she smoothed her hands up his back. "On the contrary," his mouth found her earlobe, "I rather prefer it if you were as _explicit_ as possible." 

" _Gods_. Your mind is as dirty as your mouth." 

His mouth dragged along her jaw to poise a hairsbreadth above her lips. She could almost feel him smirking as he replied, 

"Of course. You bring out the best in me, my dear." 

* * *

**x.x end**


End file.
